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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165424">The Curriculum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayonakaNoAme/pseuds/MayonakaNoAme'>MayonakaNoAme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:41:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>49,392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayonakaNoAme/pseuds/MayonakaNoAme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cloud Strife, an Industrial Arts teacher at Midgar Preparatory High school, is facing new management halfway through the school year, headed by an old flame, Tifa Lockhart. Despite a complicated history and dueling odds, both strive to empower their students while fostering some semblance of a life within a guarded campus where traditions can imprison and rumors can mangle.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tifa Lockhart &amp; Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>176</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sociology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Focuses on the systematic understanding of social interaction, organization, institutions, and change as pertains to groups and individuals. Students will gain an understanding of basic social processes such as deviance and conformity, and basic institutions such as the economy, the government, the family, religion, education.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>[ : <b>The Curriculum</b> : ]</p><p>Chapter 1 | Sociology</p><p>Cloud Strife didn’t believe in Hell. </p><p>At least he hadn’t until he was jarred awake by the impotent wheezing of the air conditioner, limbs tangled in sweat-stained sheets, certain he was breathing in molasses. Groaning, the twenty-seven-year-old puddle of a man sat up and peeled off a shirt that was more sponge than clothing by that point. </p><p>It was January, for Goddess’ sake. This weather was officially insane. </p><p>Yanking black-framed glasses off the nightstand and onto his face, Cloud stared out the window until the campus gates and flat, dead plains beyond came into focus, feeling a pang for the white-frosted mountains that used to twinkle at him in greeting. </p><p>That was a long time ago. </p><p>This was his choice and the sooner he got used to it, the better. If only he could acclimatize to that acrid, burning plastic smell…</p><p>“Shit!”</p><p>Spurred by a telltale whiff of smoke, Cloud leapt to his feet on top of the mattress to yank off the air conditioner’s panel and disconnect the sparking power source, wincing as he realized how close he had come to manslaughtering himself and his colleagues had he slept a minute longer. Six months he had lived in this tinder/shoe box and he had replaced the condenser fan motor twice, too impatient to await the maintenance team whose priorities lay at the bottom of a pastry box. Admittedly, he shouldn’t have had high hopes for a ten-year-old, rusted part gleaned from the junkyard. </p><p>On that high, overcooked note, his day began. </p><p>Within fifteen minutes, Cloud had showered off a latex-thick layer of perspiration, dressed in a blue button-down, thin black tie and slacks, ran a hand through his untameable blonde locks if only to confirm they were still untameable, and was traipsing down the staircase with a slice of toast dangling between his teeth. It was the first day of the Winter semester and he was determined to summon the guts to talk to Heidegger, the Headmaster, about increasing the materials budget for his class. It wasn’t that he was afraid, as imposing as the man was in every sense of the word; a literal giant with an even loftier pedigree. Cloud simply loathed talking to <em> anyone </em> without life or death necessity. </p><p>“Heya Strife.” Barret Wallace, the physical education teacher, greeted with a loose salute as he exited the building. The tank of a man was sipping a smoothie on a lounger that encompassed his entire front porch, fanning himself with a bodybuilding magazine. He was one of the few on staff granted a closed-bedroom unit on the ground floor with the luxury of a meager outdoor space since he shared it with his daughter, a scholarship student. “Hope you had a good holiday away from this sweatshop. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll surrender some ice for our balls, eh?!”</p><p>Cloud chewed on his toast to suppress a cringe as the guy guffawed and slapped his knee. Why Wallace tried, everyday, to invoke some sort of brotherly camaraderie was a mystery, for Cloud never displayed the slightest interest in being anything more than colleagues. </p><p>At a complete loss of how to respond, he was still frozen on the entrance stairs, mindlessly gnawing his breakfast like a gerbil, when Barret’s daughter appeared beyond the screen doors. </p><p>“Morning, Mr. Strife,” the sixteen year old greeted with a pinky wave, and Cloud felt the tension evaporate like raindrops on a skillet. Something about that sarcastic kid, currently dressed in the uniform black kilt, white polo and grey vest all of which were fraying at the edges, hair held back by a lopsided scrunchie that matched the emerald school tie, made him feel at ease. As if they were both resilient herbs among a garden of roses.</p><p>“Hey Marlene. I’ll be seeing you in class later, right?”</p><p>“Oh no, sorry Mr. Strife. I decided to switch to macrame over break. Hand woven textiles assure me a much more promising future, don’t you think?” Her smirk was semi-hidden beneath the rim of a <em> ‘Keep on Rockin’ in Midgar’ </em> coffee mug.</p><p>Cloud scoffed. Served him right for daring to doubt. “You’re funny, kid.”</p><p>“So I’ve been told.” Swatting her father’s legs away, she took a seat at the end of the lounger. “I’ll be over a bit later. Daddy finally got an appointment at the free clinic and I need to make sure he gets on the right bus this time.”</p><p>“Pft. Like hell you do. I’m a grown-ass man!”</p><p>“A grown-ass man who has gotten lost not once, but thrice!”</p><p>“Why I oughta…” Reaching up, Barret’s beefy hand caught Marlene around the back of the neck to pull her into some amalgamation of a headlock and hug and she yelped in thrilled mock-terror. “If you weren’t the sweetest, smartess, coolest kid in the universe, I’d-”</p><p>“Well, it’s getting late,” Cloud interrupted, scratching behind his ear, at a complete loss as to how to gracefully bow out of a wrestling enactment you sure as hell never bought tickets for. “Umm, cheers. I guess.”</p><p>Six months he had lived there. Probably over one hundred times he had bumped into Marlene and/or Barret on his way out or in and it never got any more eloquent than that. </p><p>With little time to waste, Cloud jogged down the fern-lined path leading to the main road dividing the campus. The school-building proper was a mere five minute walk away, but on a scorcher like today, it may as well be a marathon. The cement shimmered as he approached, making the newly constructed student residence on the other side dance like a desert mirage. To his left were the entrance gates leading to the city; the tip of the pizza-slice shaped property, beyond which was nothing but yellow grass and steel, while at the end of the road to the right, to his eternal awe, was the temple-turned-high school of Midgar Preparatory in all its ivy-covered glory. A grin could not help but tug onto his lips, even though he had to loosen his tie to cope with shallow breath, as he took in the building he hadn’t seen since before the two-week winter solstice holiday. It was strange to think that he missed the place but then realized it was probably the non-smog thickened air that his lungs were reacting to. His time away hadn’t exactly been filled with swimming pools and cocktail hours. </p><p> Located a mere mile out from the city, Midgar Preparatory was one of the only, if not <em> the </em> only, protected plots of land left on the entire continent. Decades after realizing that pumping the planet’s lifeblood for power probably wasn’t the wisest endeavor for future generations, those with the greatest influence bestowed a mere 25-acre, virgin sliver to its most promising youth, complemented with what passed for a “forest” as a backdrop along the crust.</p><p>It was more expansive space and greenery than most born-Midgarians could imagine. Still, on most days, Cloud found it overcrowded. Then again, he found a football field crowded if there was one body beyond the essential players.</p><p>The main building was structured around a Makology temple as its core, complete with ornate stained-glass windows and stonework; feats of ancient structural engineering which Cloud could never <em> not </em> appreciate every day he walked up the dusty, central road. More modern, steel wings had been added over the years, including a gym, staff room and cafeteria to the right (east), offices on the second level of the chapel itself, and various aging laboratories, including his Industrial Arts workshop, to the left (west). </p><p>It really wasn’t so bad a place to work, Cloud tried to assure himself just as a purple convertible raced past, kicking dust into his already stinging eyes. Coughing, he tried to identify the car as it slid crookedly into one of the most coveted parking spots nearest to the door. Another one of the few job perks was the magnificent machinery he was allowed to marvel at up close, sponsored by the most elite families. Even from afar, it wasn’t hard to recognise the blonde, slicked back hair of Rupert Shinra, the Chairman’s son, sliding out of the passenger seat and smirking at the other students trudging in from residence, tossing his keys in the air and catching them like some sort of ringleader before slamming the door with his hip. </p><p>Looks like someone had an especially profitable solstice holiday. To no one’s surprise.</p><p>There wasn’t time to wallow in the unfairness of life, for the bell rang seconds after he stepped onto the manicured grass of the front gardens. </p><p>Usually, this would be no cause for concern, as he was a temp without a homeroom to babysit. However, he vaguely recalled Zack mentioning something about the first day and some special assembly...</p><p>“Shit,” he cussed for the second time that morning. Grateful that there were no students within earshot, Cloud clutched his leather satchel and sprinted up the steps directly toward the temple doors instead of the usual side staff entrance. </p><p>Apparently, there was no avoiding him barreling into another semester flustered and already out of sync.</p><hr/><p>There were exactly two seconds to spare before the temple’s Primar, Domino, draped in black robes with an ostentatiously thick gold-chain collar dotted with round emeralds in each link, rang his handbell to call for silence. Much like a plague doctor would summon mourners to bring out their dead. Thankfully, as it was the first day post-vacation, it was easy to sneak behind a flock of students and make his way toward the side-wall pews usually occupied by the choir during Saturday service. Or so he had been told, since he had yet to ever attend. Zack had a seat saved; his favorite one hidden deepest in the shadows of the balcony and at the very end so that he wouldn’t have to rub shoulders with anyone else. </p><p>Aerith Gainsborough, the school medic, was one place beyond Zack and offered a warm smile in greeting. As luminescent as ever, she wore a pale yellow sundress and matching cardigan, cinched at the collar with a gold halo and spherical emerald brooch, long auburn hair falling down one shoulder in a fishtail braid. Cloud often wondered if her intention was to personify spring with all those pastels, florals, ribbons and sunshine, green eyes as vivid as the well-fed grass. Maybe she thought it kept her patients trusting and calm. Such girlish charms made it easy to forget she was a damn brilliant medic who could have easily become a proper doctor had circumstances allowed.</p><p>Zack Fair was the complete opposite, style-wise, with black hair that fell rakishly into his eyes, pressed navy suit cut to a perfect slim fit, sleeves rolled up to allow just a hint of that cool-guy dishevelment which made him oh-so-popular with his English Lit. students. Considering his own wrinkled pants, crooked tie and thick-framed glasses, Cloud could not help but feel a bit like a pigeon next to a hawk. At least it was a feeling he was very much accustomed to. </p><p>“Thanks,” Cloud whispered, sliding against the blissfully cool mahogany. This temple, above all other more efficiently insulated rooms, had priority air conditioning for reasons he would never understand but wasn’t about to complain. “I just-”</p><p>“Forgot,” Zack finished with a cocky grin, keeping his voice low as the Primar tutted at tardy students still elbowing their way into the last remaining pew seats. “Figured you would. Texted you a reminder an hour ago and yet...”</p><p>He held up an open palm in front of Aerith’s face. Sighing, she slapped a twenty-five gil coin into it before flashing Cloud an apologetic grimace.</p><p>Frowning more at his device’s lack of a chime than their bets, Cloud fished the ancient PHS out of his satchel. Sure enough, there were two unread messages blinking across the cracked screen: one from Zack reminding him of the early assembly and another from his mother thanking him for the taffy he had managed to sneak in via a hollowed-out romance novel.</p><p>“Sorry,” he muttered non-committedly, glancing up onto the altar proper which was barely visible from this angle. There were a lot more bodies up there than the usual gaggle of administrators and executives. At least thirty adults were seated into three rows, all wearing uniquely altered versions of the black, green and gold robe that marked them as campus bigwigs. If he had to guess, it appeared to be the entire school board, including Chairman Rufus Shinra and a few other illustrious members he recognized from the papers, Scarlet Saber and Reeve Tuesti; all parent-patron-alumni who tended to only show up when caviar and champagne was being served. </p><p>Though Cloud’s MO was to slump in his seat and catch a bit of a nap during these things, his curiosity was unavoidably roused. “Anything special happening today?”</p><p>The much taller Zack leaned sideways until the shoulder pad of his suit jacket brushed Cloud’s cheek. “Well <em> duh </em>. They’re introducing the new Headmaster.”</p><p>“The <em> what </em>?”</p><p>“Shh,” Aerith chastised in half reprimand, half amusement, smile invulnerable beneath the finger on her lip. </p><p>“All rise!” Primar Domino made a sweeping gesture with both arms outstretched and, like puppets on strings, the entire board sitting upon the altar, all three hundred students and most of the faculty were pulled to their feet for the opening chant.</p><p>Zack flipped open one of the leather-bound tomes containing the lyrics and held it high enough so that it hid his and Cloud’s faces.  “Dude, seriously, you have <em> got </em> to read your freakin’ memos!”</p><p>Cloud fists dug deep into his pockets. “I’ve been-”</p><p>“Busy, yeah. So you’ve said. Mystery vacation or whatever. Regardless, they send them both on paper and electronically nowadays, so that’s no excuse. Don’t make me regret recommending you.”</p><p>“Ha. Like you haven’t already regretted it.”</p><p>“True. It’s like once a day at this point.”</p><p>“That’s generous. I thought it would be once an hour at least.”</p><p>“Here we are, minute one of our blessed reunion, and you’re already pissing me off. It’s a new record. Congratu-fucking-lations!”</p><p>Beside them, Aerith’s singing devolved into a snort. Aiming to catch up with the rest of the congregation, her typically soft soprano rose in pitch to block out their bickering.</p><p> Undeterred, Zack continued, his frustration never lasting more than the few seconds it took to roll off his tongue. “Your hopelessness aside, Heidegger was tossed out on his overpadded backside some point over break. Rumor has it that his accounting books were a little <em> tilted </em>. Enough to drip into a secret Costa Del Sol account.”</p><p>“That’s mere conjecture,” Aerith hissed, unable to avoid getting sucked in. “We don’t know it’s true!”</p><p>“You’re right. Sorry!” Only after she rejoined the chant did Zack turn to Cloud and mouth ‘<em> it’s totally true’. </em></p><p>Cloud figured it was, but was reluctant to give the subject any more heft. Heidegger was one of the only staff members who hadn’t lived on campus, instead purchasing a townhouse up on the prestigious Sector 8 plate where a handful of students originated. It was the only area of Midgar with a realistic commuting time, which was one of the many reasons most students lived in campus residence. Or, if one refused to forego the comforts of a home in a further sector, some procured racetrack-worthy sports cars to make up the time, like the young Shinra. Cloud could not fathom how a Headmaster afforded to live plate-side and never cared to try. Almost everyone here had family money, it seemed. Million gil cushions were as prevalent as hickeys and just as badly concealed.</p><p>Hoping to redeem himself to Zack while warding away boredom, Cloud whipped out his PHS to peruse his work email for the first time in two blissful though unintentional weeks of ignorance. Over eighty-two unread messages ranged from mundane fundraiser reminders to actual important updates that affected his schedule. Kisaragi, the Headmaster’s assistant, had sent him a warning that his Junior and Senior classes would be merged into one this semester due to low enrollment. Cloud raised a hand to his mouth to subvert a grin. That meant, including the Sophomore introductory class, he’d only have two double and two single periods to teach and more than half his schedule would otherwise be free for office hours or personal projects. </p><p>Perfect. </p><p>“You may be seated.” When Primar Domino wrapped up the chant, Zack had to yank him by the tie to get him to sit down and slide the phone back in his bag. First being late then almost caught on a device during assembly. It was indeed a miracle he wasn’t fired yet. Or, more specifically, that a successful, popular guy like Zack Fair gave enough of a shit to cover for him was the real miracle.</p><p>Domino proceeded to ramble on for untold minutes. Something about Goddess’ Light. Something about The Promised Land. Yadda-yadda-yadda. Cloud had already crossed his arms over his chest and was starting to slouch when Zack poked him. </p><p>“Yo. Why do you think Doctor Creepy is up there and not sitting with us underlings?”</p><p>Sighing, Cloud popped one eye open if only to humor him. Doctor Hojo, the Biology teacher who never dared let you forget that he was the most highly educated on staff, was indeed missing from the ranks of the wall pews. Instead, he was spotted upon the altar in the second row just behind Rufus Shinra and Scarlet Saber in a newly outfitted robe. Despite really, really, not wanting to care, Cloud’s back stiffened involuntarily. He glanced toward Aerith and noticed she too was ramrod straight, wringing her hands in her lap.      </p><p>They were announcing a new Headmaster today...</p><p>“Oh <em> noooooo </em>.” A little late to the party, Zack seemed to have arrived at the same, terrifying conclusion. “They wouldn’t, right? I mean...the guy’s not exactly-”</p><p> The words were left hanging once they noticed Shera, the Chemistry teacher, shooting them a motherly evil-eye. Not that Cloud needed any elaboration. Hojo notoriously wasn’t the most sympathetic of people let alone educators. At least once a week Aerith had to treat some chemical burn or scalpel cut as he was more focused on personal experiments than student safety. After Heidegger, it would have been hard to imagine a suckier, more intimidating boss. </p><p>“Good morning fair students and staff. A few announcements before we start off what is sure to be a profitable Winter semester.” Chairman of the board Rufus Shinra, a slightly taller, more imposing copy of his son down to the slicked blonde hair and holier-than-thou attitude, had taken over the podium. His stare slithered over the sea of students and staff as though he were a bear and they, leaping salmon. “First I want to extend congratulations to Doctor Tetsuya Hojo, who was recently awarded the prestigious Lucretian Grant to continue research into mako therapy. Regrettably, though he will still be presiding over his on-campus laboratories, he will not be teaching any classes this semester.”</p><p>“<em> Woohoo!” </em>Some overly brave student dared to shout, triggering bursts of giggles among the pews. They were short lived though, as a pointed glare from both Shinra and Hojo spurred the same reaction as a loaded gun.      </p><p> Beside him, Cloud felt Zack’s shoulders lose their tenseness. Aerith too seemed to unwind and her smile turned back up to full, blinding brightness. Cloud, however, didn’t dare permit any modicum of relief. If life had taught him anything, things could and usually did get worse.  </p><p>“Now for the news I’m sure you are all eager for. Upon Headmaster Heidegger’s honorable though unexpected retirement...” Twas a convenient choice of words indeed, spurring murmurs among both the staff and student ranks. “We have been scouring the planet’s most impressive academics for a worthy replacement. I am thrilled to announce that we believe we have found her.”</p><p>“<em> Her </em>?!” Zack repeated, jaw dropping like a busted ventriloquist’s doll.</p><p>Even Aerith broke her respectful stoicism to gasp, both fists held up as if to rein in her excitement. There had never been a female head of school in its century-long history. Hell, female faculty hadn’t even been allowed until ten years ago, female students a mere twenty-five years ago. </p><p>“Please join me in welcoming…” </p><p>Cloud didn’t exactly know why, but his heart started hammering against his ribcage. For reasons that made absolutely no sense, he felt like everything was on the cusp of exploding. This placid life, though boring and predictable, had just started to wrap itself around him like a cozy little tomb. He was comfortable here. He didn’t want it to change.   </p><p>It would have been hard to think of someone more horrifying than Doctor Hojo to become his next boss. But <em> she </em>...</p><p>  “Headmistress Tifa Lockhart!” </p><p>...was a definite, if not the only, contender. </p><p>“<em> Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccckkkkkk, </em>” he breathed much too loudly. Luckily, the curse was drowned out by roaring applause as the woman of the hour rose from the frontmost pew and made her way to the podium.</p><p>Zack of course picked up on the rare expletive and revved up analysis between hand slaps. “Tifa.” Clap. “Where.” Clap. “ Do I know.” Clap. “That name?”</p><p>Cloud peered at his friend as panic blanched his expression, praying that he wouldn’t remember. </p><p>Last year, before he had been officially hired, Cloud had joined one of Zack’s infamous “Their. There. They’re.” evenings; basically an excuse to drink and feel sorry for oneself while dredging through infinite pages of grammar and spelling corrections. They had been one (or four) glasses of corel liquor passed shitfaced when the salacious tale had come spewing out of his mouth much like the vomit that arrived soon afterwards. </p><p>That damn night was one of the many reasons he swore off drinking though it was also what led to them truly becoming friends, upon nursing one another through the most legendary of hangovers. The kind of hangover where it hurt to blink and flicking wayward popcorn kernels to each other as they both lay sprawled under the table was the only way to survive. Other particulars, like exactly how much detail he had relinquished, would be forever lost to blackout. </p><p>“Wait a minute. <em> Tifa </em>!” The applause started to die just as Zack shot one finger up in silent eureka. “Isn't that the name of the chick with whom you lost your…” Lunging, Cloud slapped a hand to the guy’s mouth, mortified beyond all reason. </p><p>This extreme reaction, especially from a guy who only dared to let his guard down around engines, was all the evidence Zack needed. The older man’s shoulders started to shake with barely suppressed giggles as he raised both arms, surrendering. </p><p>Not having much of a choice, considering how both Aerith and Shera were glaring as if they had gone mad, Cloud let his fingers drop before thumping his head back against the wood paneling so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose. </p><p>This couldn’t be happening. </p><p>“Thank you all, so much, for the warm welcome! Wow!”</p><p>But it <em> was </em>happening. He would recognize that voice anywhere, even though it had deepened and become refined, more confident, in a little under a decade. He remembered it fussing over his bruised knees at the playground. He remembered it making grandiose claims via a megaphone during class presidential elections. </p><p>Mostly, he remembered it gasping his name…</p><p>Eyes popping open, refusing to drown in such volatile memory, Cloud sat up and forced himself to pay attention.</p><p> It was time to meet the new boss. </p><p>“A little about me.” He watched, helpless, as she cleared her throat and pushed her hair behind her ears. Hair, he was inexplicably glad to note, which still shone in dark waves all the way down to her lower back. “My name is Tifa but, I suppose, you will all come to know me as Headmistress Lockhart. I understand that I am the youngest person to have been offered this position as well as the first female, but I believe a fresh, modern perspective is necessary to lead this prestigious school and each student into the...<em> divine </em> light of the Goddess.”</p><p>“Nice. Very nice,” Zack muttered from the corner of his mouth, nodding in approval. “High-fiving the Goddess within four sentences, wearing that pin, acknowledging the elephant of her age and gender straight off the bat. Smart.”</p><p>Cloud didn’t comment. Saying Tifa was smart was the equivalent of calling this day humid. It was obvious to anyone who breathed.  </p><p>The only thing he may have pointed out, if pressed, as being not-so-smart was her choice of clothing. She was dressed in what he could only describe as ‘sporty-business-casual’; a black fitted mini skirt and blazer made out of curve-hugging stretch fabric with a violet tank top beneath, gold halo pinned to her breast pocket. Those still impressively long legs of hers were encased in black sheer pantyhose held up by garters, concluding in thick heeled, suede ankle boots. It would have been considered a professional, practical outfit had it been showcased anywhere beyond these walls.   </p><p>But Midgar Preparatory wasn’t the average high school. If her name was still Lockhart, it meant she was unmarried. Which meant… </p><p>Cloud glanced over at Scarlet Saber; mother of Senior student Septina Saber, high ranking board member and head of the ethics committee. Though she technically shouldn’t judge considering the neckline of her custom black robe plunged down to her navel, gold and emerald halo necklace practically drowning in cleavage, the way she was sneering at Tifa - like one would look at a piece of gum stuck to your shoe - left no doubt in his mind that the first of many rulebooks to be shoved down her throat would be the dress code for unattached females.</p><p>As perceptive as ever, Tifa seemed to become aware of this a mere minute into her speech, unconsciously tugging at her skirt hem as she spoke. “Please be assured that, though new, I <em> am </em> more than qualified for this post. I have a Masters in Business Administration and two very successful years as vice-principal at Junon Public High. I expect I will need some assistance learning the ropes and request your patience and understanding as we all settle into a new rhythm. I believe all of you can achieve your dreams and I will be there to help guide you. I promise. And if you must know one <em> personal </em> fact about me...” She scanned the room then, taking her time, as if aiming to make eye contact with every single student out there. Instinctively, Cloud sunk further into the shadows though it proved to be unnecessary since she avoided the staff lined against the wall. “I <em> never </em>break a promise. Thank you. Now let’s get you all educated!”</p><p>An unusually tumultuous applause followed as the freshly minted Headmistress Lockhart took an empty chair among the board members and Primar Domino returned to the podium for closing prayer. The mere volume of the crowd’s reaction proved how starved they had been for change and this was the first hint that it was not only possible, but on the horizon. Some hooting and whistles from the male students probably didn’t help Scarlet’s impression but that was a hurdle Cloud was sure she could handle.</p><p>Tifa, at least the one he had known back in their hometown, was capable of handling anything with grace, dignity and, if necessary, sheer power of will. Tifa made things happen that no one could ever have imagined happening. All she needed was to want it badly enough. </p><p>“Please rise for the blessing.” Another yank of the Primar's arms and they were all back on their feet. Beside him, Zack and Aerith clasped their hands below their chins and began to recite the poem all had been trained to spew since infancy. All except Cloud. </p><p> <em> “Our mother, who areth in the Promised Land, </em></p><p>
  <em> Hallowed be thy name. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thy will be done-” </em>
</p><p>Tuning it out was a habit by this point, but he wasn’t so bold as to do anything completely disrespectful like pull out his phone. Instead, Cloud took the opportunity to peruse the pews overflowing with students, glad to recognize a few faces, wondering who had dared rise to the challenge and stick with his admittedly unorthodox class this semester. He had almost forgotten about the source of his discomfort when his gaze wandered over to the altar and met another set of eyes. </p><p>A uniquely wine-colored pair that always had and still did make him feel a bizarre sort of day-drunk. </p><p><em> Her </em> eyes.  </p><p>Tifa Lockhart had her hands clasped below her chin and was mouthing the prayer just like everyone else, but her cat-like instincts had also, presumably, wanted to take advantage of this rare stillness.</p><p>It took a full ten seconds of unabashed staring until a spark of recognition flashed which she immediately blinked away, averting her gaze down to her crossed ankles. </p><p>Though difficult to confirm at this distance, he swore he could see the hint of a blush staining her cheekbones. Before reading too much into it, the prayer was over, the students were dismissed and he was swept up in a wave of colleagues eager to make the first period call to arms.</p><hr/><p>Cloud barely had enough time to jog to the staffroom mail-cubbies and collect his printed schedule only to discover that his first class began <em> immediately </em>. Monday’s first period was the newly formed Junior &amp; Senior hybrid course; a single-period lecture for Advanced Industrial Arts prior to the double-period lab time later on in the week. Swearing under his breath, he ignored the teetering pile of pending memos and headed to his workshop tucked away in the far west, back corner of the campus, just past Cid and Shera’s dusty labs and Hojo’s shiny, newly refurbished one. </p><p>Glancing into the room from the glass-walled hallway, seven of his eight registered students were revealed to be sprawled around the central conference table, already proving that they are a tad too comfortable. Denzel Griever, a late addition to Midgar Preparatory since his father had only recently been promoted to a lofty enough position, had his green tie loosened and top three shirt buttons undone as he texted on his PHS. Septina Saber, Scarlet’s kid, was painting her nails some shade of poison red. Marlene was reading an actual textbook on non-mako dependent engine designs (there was hope!) while Rupert Shinra and Andrea Rhodea were, he couldn’t tell, exchanging jewelry?</p><p>Cloud didn’t really care how casual they got. As long as everyone kept their heads out of their asses when using the table saw or blowtorch.</p><p>“Where’s Tuesti?” he asked gruffly upon entering, tossing his satchel onto the desk by the door. Technically, students were supposed to jump to their feet and await acknowledgement when a teacher came into a room, but Cloud nixed that formality within two seconds of it first happening. This was high school, not the army. “Ruvie Tuesti is meant to be in this class too, no? Denzel, if I see that phone again, I’m requisitioning it for parts. Septina, just my humble opinion that the manicures should wait until after you’re done donning work gloves, k?”</p><p>“I don’t think Tuesti is in today,” another student, Kyrie, explained while gnawing on an obscenely large wad of gum. </p><p>“Yeah, I noticed her parking spot was empty on my way back from assembly,” added Wymer who was doodling a complex crossbow. “She must be sick. That or she dropped.”</p><p>“Mm. Okay then.” Cloud rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to show his disappointment. Ruvie Tuesti was one of his most intriguing students, if only because she went from thinking a Phillips head was a type of haircut to making a personal project out of resuscitating an antique buggy. It was too bad because he had found a muffler in the junkyard that may keep it from sounding like a bulldozer with a cough. He’d never understand how someone with all the money in the world insisted on driving such a scrap heap, but he could also appreciate the sentimentality of it.</p><p>Seven students it was. That meant about five others dropped over the solstice, which was fine with him. The fewer the merrier was his motto. </p><p>“So. Advanced Industrial Arts 202,” he began, clapping his hands together in an attempt to dredge up some energy. “You all know the basics by now. This semester you are going to design and build a machine. Any machine. I don’t care if it pours milk or flies to the moon. It needs to satisfy a unique need, I need to see weekly progress and it needs to function by the last day of class. You can partner up if the system is complex enough. Any questions?”    </p><p>Silence. This group, thankfully, had gotten somewhat used to his unconventional methods. They were Midgar Preparatory students after all, the most promising young minds on the planet. They just needed a minute to process. </p><p>“Score!” Denzel finally broke the quiet with a fist pumped into the air. “I’m going to build myself a new motorbike. A <em> fast </em>one.”</p><p>Cloud’s lip turned at the corner, appreciating the kid’s eagerness, but… “I said something <em> unique </em>, Denzel. You won’t learn by following existing blue-”</p><p>“Patience, Mr. Strife,” the young man interrupted, cockily adjusting his tie like the nouveau-riche, somewhat good-looking teenager that he was. Regardless, the kid knew how to <em> work </em> and had very little care for his classmate’s opinions. He reminded Cloud of himself at that age. Only more vocal. “What would you say to a bike that runs on used cooking oil that also has hidden, spring-loaded weapon compartments for hunters? Hmm?”</p><p>At this, Cloud did unbridle a rare, full-on smile. Even if it was mere pandering, the very concept ignited the spark of creation that tended to live damply in his chest nowadays. “Now <em> that </em>is interesting.”</p><p>“What motor-mouth here is failing to mention is that <em> I’ll </em>be designing the engine and claiming the patent,” Marlene added, glaring at Denzel out of the corner of her eye. “He’s just the fancy packaging guy.”</p><p>From across the table, Rupert Shinra let out a scoff, crossing his overstarch sleeves complete with emerald cufflinks over his chest. “Goddess help us, Dyslexic Denz and Wallace-the-Wallflower constructing a fast-moving combustible? Why not just slather yourselves across five meters of highway right now and save us all some time?”</p><p>Cloud’s smile inverted. </p><p>Shinra. What a little shithead.</p><p>“You’re such a shithead, Shinra,” said Marlene, as if extracting the words straight from his brain. It took all of Cloud’s composure not to laugh. </p><p>“Let’s be civil, children,” he barked in reprimand. “You’ve got a busy semester ahead. I want you to start drafting proposals, complete with blueprint drawings compiled in the IA software.” </p><p>Groans assaulted him from every direction, Wymer even going so far as to bunch up and toss a crumpled piece of paper at his head which ignited a flurry. Sometimes he wished he had pursued the cold educator-sergeant vs. student-cadet relationship that all the other teachers seem to have adopted. Certainly <em> they </em>weren’t getting pelted by q-tips and cotton balls supplied from Andrea’s makeup case. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Deal with it! Excuse me for making you learn actual up-to-date tools in a course that <em> you </em>selected. I heard it’s not too late to swap for macrame?” </p><p>“Actually, sir.” Septina piped in after finishing her last pinky nail. “Just so you know, on the syllabus this was listed as Industrial <em> Arts </em> class. I honestly figured we’d be making, like, cute goggles with little gears on em’.” </p><p>Goddess Almighty, he had forgotten about that one. </p><p>If Septina Saber were a spice, she’d be corn starch. Though he was 98.9% sure the girl was here because she was still stalking the young Rupert Shinra in the hopes of snagging a fiancé prior to graduation, in the rare chance that she actually wanted to learn, he was duty bound to teach her. Even if she was just a few elective surgeries away from becoming a clone of her mother, the human venus fly trap, Scarlet. </p><p>“I mean, building a <em> bicycle </em>? Isn’t that a little, ya know...lowbrow?”</p><p>“Cripes, Septina.” Snarky, overly-defensive Marlene had been summoned yet again. “A functional brain cell. Got one? Maybe rattling around that oversized pooper-scooper you call a purse?” </p><p>Septina gasped in exaggerated offense, clutching the ostentatious bag to her chest. “This is an original Bugenhagen, you uncultured bitch!” </p><p>“Is that Wutain for ‘tacky’?”</p><p>“Just because your broke-ass dad can’t afford one, doesn’t mean-” </p><p>“Saber. Wallace. For the love of-” Cloud rubbed at the skin beneath the bridge of his glasses, finding it hard to believe that this was a mere five minutes in. “That’s two. Three strikes, you’re out on procurement duty. You know the rules.” </p><p>“Apologies, Mr. Strife.” Marlene fell back into her seat, clearly embarrassed though not necessarily sorry. “People are just particularly irritating today.” </p><p>The girl’s gaze shifted to the seat usually occupied by Ruvie Tuesti. The two of them had bonded over skipping a grade and, as far as Cloud knew, had mirrored schedules throughout the last two and a half years. </p><p>It was none of his business. Personal problems had no place here. This was a sentiment he knew he’d have to remind himself often in the coming days, as he did his best to dance around the living, breathing, emotional time bomb that was Tifa Lockhart.  </p><p>The same Tifa who had drawn blood from his shoulder, trying to muffle a scream…</p><p>Tifa Lockhart, who wore red underwear on special occasions... </p><p>Headmistress Lockhart, who had never written back... </p><p>“Be that as it may,” Cloud shook his head to repack long buried sentiments. He had a job to do and no one would be of any use if they couldn’t stop squabbling. “We’re an intimate group this semester and I’d rather spend my time helping you all build cool shit than MCing slam poetry night. I <em> cannot </em>pull off a beret. Agreed?” </p><p>“Yes, Mr. Strife,” they all chanted in unison, apparently acknowledging that though eccentric, he was still a staff member of Midgar Preparatory and that title, somehow, demanded respect.</p><p>“Good. Now let’s get started. As I said-” He eyed Marlene specifically at this point, whose face slowly evolved into a grin. “I’m expecting to see some <em> really </em>cool shit from you all. Now get to it.” </p><p>With that, all seven teenagers pushed off to their computer stations along the inside glass wall to begin proposal drafts. Cloud returned to his desk, put his feet up on the surface and closed his eyes in an attempt to suppress the building pressure in his head, keeping an ear out for the inevitable questions. </p><p>Some parts of this job he really, really liked.  </p><hr/><p>Upon returning to the staff room after first period, Cloud retrieved his mailbox memos and plopped down in his usual corner table with the wonky leg that no one else ever bothered with. The mug of coffee in his hand was lukewarm at best and probably a good two to four hours past what anyone would consider ‘fresh’, but Cloud didn’t care. Add enough cream and sugar and even tar could become pleasant and just as invigorating. </p><p>As he sipped and tried to ignore the singing of his back teeth, Cloud divided the colored papers into categories. </p><p>Four were grey parental complaints from last semester’s crop of failures. That at least explained his reduced course load. </p><p>Two were yellow pleas to join the bake sale committee. That’ll be a cold day in Hell, unless they offered a cash incentive. </p><p>One was green from Heidegger that must have been several weeks old, insisting that they hadn’t the budget to spare for new materials nor even an up to code eye wash station. Ha!</p><p>Most were white reminders of events: Pedological days. High Holidays. Parent-Teacher Meetings. The Winter Ball which he was, apparently, expected to chaperone. Ugh. Fine, as long as he received overtime pay. Etc..</p><p>Two at the top of the pile were especially crisp, proving to have been distributed recently. One was of soft violet paper and Cloud knew instinctively who it was from. For a nerve tightening minute, he worried that this was <em> it. </em> The letter his eighteen-year-old, heartbroken self had prayed for. </p><p>Alas, upon glancing up at the wall of staff mail cubbies, he realized that everyone had an exact replica of the same folded violet paper. This infused him with enough courage to unfurl the thing at last, chest deflating as it proved to be nothing more than a typed announcement from the new Headmistress’ office. The first paragraph was a generic introduction, welcome, proud to be there, etc.., while the second half contained the real meat in the voice of her assistant, Yuffie Kisaragi. </p><p>
  <em> Headmistress Lockhart, following several lengthy discussions with the board and concerned parents, intends to meet with individual educators to discuss and refine their syllabuses to ensure the greatest absorption and productivity from the student body. These will be compiled into a brand new Master Curriculum binder to be updated annually and shared with sister/brother institutions. All faculty will be summoned for one-on-one appointments at the Headmistress’ leisure over the coming days.  </em>
</p><p>Cloud winced at the wording, though it was just as likely a reaction from the last sip of coffee which was brown-tinted sugar-sludge by that point. </p><p>A one-on-one appointment with Tifa. He could handle that. He, despite what Zack often implied, was a godsdamn professional. </p><p>“You’ve got to be <em> fucking </em> kidding me!” Jarred by the language, so very uncommon in this space, Cloud looked up and noticed Cid Highwind sitting beside his wife, Shera, a few tables to the left. The Physics teacher was shaking his head while Shera had a hand over her mouth, both staring with clear disappointment at a pink paper splayed on the formica surface. </p><p>Glancing down at his own stack of memos, Cloud noticed a similarly colored one and plucked it out from the mess, unfolding it with care. </p><p>It was a generic urgent memo in format, as crisp and new as Tifa’s violet summons. Such announcements came directly from the board and usually included information of a more sensitive nature. True enough, the first line was a reminder of the non-disclosure agreement they had all signed in their contracts before revealing the announcement’s core. </p><p>
  <em> Junior from class 3C, Ruvie Tuesti, daughter of Reeve and Rila Tuesti, will be taking a leave of absence due to a family emergency and will consider continuing her education the following year. All her course materials and in-progress projects need to be prepared for storage ASAP. </em>
</p><p>Cloud’s forehead grew deeply creased. The words didn’t make any sense, refusing to find purchase in his mind like a square peg being shoved into a round hole. Ruvie, she- </p><p>“There goes another one knocked up. Psh. Figures,” Cid grumbled only to be shushed by his wife. </p><p>Cloud nearly choked on the grainy dregs of coffee, hoping to bleach the presumption from his brain. Nevertheless, it bubbled up like insuppressible gas and he found himself, against every impulse, thinking:<em> ‘poor girl’ </em>.</p><p>It wasn’t fair. </p><p>Ruvie Tuesti would have been over the moon to finally have a headmistress like Tifa Lockhart, and most likely Tifa would have found a kindred spirit in Ruvie’s similarly relentless, fast-processing mind. Girls like that, they were destined to take over the world.</p><p>As he scratched the not-yet-healed line of stitches behind his ear, hidden by a conveniently placed lock of hair, Cloud was reminded…</p><p>Destiny could be quite the asshole. </p><hr/><p><b>**Author’s Note**</b>: Hello dear friends. Thank you for joining me on a new Cloti venture. As this is my first foray into AU land, I hope I’ve managed to set a respectable stage, merging elements of the FFVII we know and love with new creatures of my own awkward imagination and experience.</p><p>Shout out to Waffle, Marle and BreathingSlowly for helping me workshop and refine this story when it was just a 30+ doc of jumbled notes, names and quotes (including such eloquence as “Cloud glasses = hot!”). You are all amazing people and I am so very grateful to you. </p><p>Been a rough week but, on the bright side, I’ve been writing. A lot. I greatly appreciate any comments, concerns or advice while I test the waters of this genre. </p><p>Thank you so, so much.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Robotics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Covers electricity and electronic principles at the introductory stage. Further into the term, students learn computer programming methodologies, data acquisition methods for sensors and explore control theory.” </em>
</p><p>[ : <b>The Curriculum</b> : ]</p><p>Chapter 2 | Robotics</p><p>As if to mock Cloud’s belief that he couldn’t get any more uncomfortable, the temperature had the audacity to climb another three degrees over the course of the day. Groaning, he trudged up the stairs to the top, male-only floor of the staff residence as though wading through a bog, yanking loose his tie and undoing the top four buttons of his shirt before even entering the hallway. He was welcomed into his private space by the relentless reek of burnt plastic plus a fun, newfound hint of curdled milk which he had accidentally left on the counter. </p><p>Home sweet, and sour, home. </p><p>Well, fuck that. </p><p>To have any hope in hell of sleeping, Cloud resorted to “borrowing” a pair of radiator blades from maintenance storage and spent the evening mounting one into each window at the foot and side of his bed, praising his one stroke of luck in being assigned a corner unit. The setup blessed him with a hummingbird’s wings’ worth of a breeze that at least kept the stickiness from settling. He hadn’t had the time or materials to fashion any sort of grate, so he could only pray not to roll over and accidentally get his hair or a toe caught.</p><p>Despite these efforts, drifting off proved to be impossible. His brain was racing too recklessly with the day’s revelations. </p><p>Heidegger’s expulsion. </p><p>The girl-next-door, Tifa, now his boss. </p><p>Ruvie Tuesti, the most promising student in the entire damn place, possibly <em> pregnant </em>at a mere sixteen-years-old. </p><p>More than the heat, the bubbling, poisonous stew of hearsay melting into reality made it difficult for him to breathe, unaided by the mounting pressure in his head. Around midnight, he succumbed to darker urges and yanked open his desk drawer, pushing past pen husks and yellowed letters to the collection of vials nestled at the bottom. </p><p>Yanking his tie from the laundry basket, he knotted it around his bicep in preparation, thanking the Goddess for small, chemical miracles. </p><p>By mid-morning the next day, his irises had dimmed to a level deemed natural enough, the green melding into the natural teal of his eyes, that he felt comfortable visiting the cafeteria for some conveniently free and plentiful carbohydrates. He didn’t have a class to teach on Tuesdays but the afternoon was reserved for office hours. By “office” he was referring to the woodshed he had requisitioned to store his scavenged collection of parts, a couple of meters out from the in-building workshop and west of the sports field.</p><p>“Good afternoon, Cloud!” He had been about to deposit his tray holding a mountain of mashed potatoes, slice of pie and coffee onto his usual wonky-legged table when Aerith waved him over. Today she was wearing pink, always pastel, always with a matching cardigan and halo pin, her high ponytail held up by a silk ribbon. “Care to join me?”</p><p>She was sitting alone directly by the window; an equally unpopular spot as it was bathed in scorching sunlight. However, there was one chair that could be in shadow if he angled it just so and, if Aerith was there, Zack was probably not far behind. Which meant-</p><p>“Oh for Goddess’ sake, will you sit down, you ninny! It’s lunch, not a hazing.” Standing up, the medic grabbed the sleeve of his sky-blue button-down and yanked him into the exact seat he had been considering. “Zack will be here as soon as he wraps up his one-on-one with the Headmistress. And hey, did you lose your glasses or something?”</p><p>Slapping a hand to his face to confirm they were indeed missing, Cloud cursed under his breath. On nights he admitted defeat, he kept forgetting that his eyesight sharpened to such stunning high definition, the glasses were a mere prop until the effects faded hours later.   </p><p>Not in the mood to hear anyone's opinions on the matter, he merely shrugged before digging into his potatoes. Aerith’s brow furrowed upon scanning the contents of his tray. “Just curious, my dear Cloud: ever heard of a thing called scurvy?”</p><p>Before he could automatically snap at her to mind her own business, Zack arrived.   </p><p>He plopped himself in the seat next to Aerith looking positively shell shocked. His burgundy tie was undone and merely draped around his collar, grey vest unbuttoned and there were prominent sweat stains at the armpits of his white dress-shirt. Frankly, he was an absolute mess, which was a very un-Zack like state to be.</p><p>“What happened?” Both Cloud and Aerith barked in unison. </p><p>Zack said nothing for a couple of beats, merely shaking his head and groaning. “Do I look shorter? Cause I <em> feel </em>, like, a lot shorter.”</p><p>“Oh, poor sweetie!” Instinctively, Aerith's hand reached to brush his bangs away from his forehead but, at the last second, she pulled away, glancing around to ensure no one but Cloud witnessed the aborted gesture. “Is Headmistress Lockhart really that bad? I’ve been praying we’d catch a break after Heidegger.”</p><p>Zack rubbed both hands down his face, pulling at his skin until it resembled a gruesome rubber mask.  “Different person, same reign of terror in a better-looking package. The board hired the woman to <em> ‘shake things up’ </em>. Consider them shooketh!” </p><p>Sometimes, Cloud wondered how Zack got a job teaching English anything. </p><p>Still playing the victim, he apparently felt well enough to grab a spoon off Aerith’s tray and use it to dig into Cloud’s potatoes before continuing his lament. “Seems like they want less classic literature and more ...I dunno, <em> ‘how to format a formal letter threatening legal action’ </em>stuff. Even Lockhart seemed unsure of the details. Anyway, long story short, I can’t make it out tonight, sweets. Gotta rewrite my syllabus and dig up a bunch of temp-plates.” Tapping the empty spoon to his chin, he pondered. “Do you think they’re like regular plates, but biodegradable?” </p><p>Aerith giggled while Cloud, justifiably, rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. </p><p>“You’re such an idiot,” she told him, chewing on a carrot stick to hide her blush.</p><p>Zack’s responding grin was bright enough to light the entire room. “Takes one to love one.” </p><p>“Gainsborough! There ya are!” Barret Wallace came jogging up to their table out of breath, his long-sleeved shirt, worn only for the purpose of hiding his tattoos, sticking to him like a second skin. “Need you down at the tennis courts. Some freshmen dumbasses decided to try catching balls from the spin shot machines with their mouths and I collected at least four teeth in a cup. That shit is above my paygrade!” </p><p>“Oh dear.” Flipping the switch to professional, Aerith reached for the medkit she always kept close by while frowning at her half-eaten meal. “Would one you mind-”</p><p>“We’ll handle it. Go on. Be a hero.” Zack gave her arm a squeeze and she flashed him yet another ecstatic smile, like she couldn’t believe the man was real, before digging into her bag to ensure she had enough items. </p><p>“Oh, don’t let me forget,” she addressed Barret while counting rolls of gauze. “I found a larger sized kilt for Marlene in the donation bin. I just need to give it a new hem and a scrub and it’ll be good as new!” </p><p>“You are a Gods damn angel, you know that Gainsborough?”</p><p>“Now, now. Language, Mr. Wallace. But you’re welcome. Let’s go see if we can save some poor kids from having to eat mush like Strife for the rest of their lives!”</p><p>With that final poke at his tendencies, they scurried to the exit. Cloud took the opportunity of Zack’s distraction to snake an arm around the edge of his plate as a shield before stabbing into the pie.  </p><p>He was a mere two bites in when the potato thief slid into the chair Aerith had vacated, claiming her untouched cup of coffee with one hand while poking his friend in the ribs with the other.  “Hey Cloud. Clouddddd. Cloudy boy…” One poke was deep enough that Cloud involuntarily twitched and ended up smearing sticky banora apple filling across his cheek. </p><p>“For the love of- <em> what </em>?” </p><p>Zack’s smile, like his eyes, were wide and borderline manic. “I’m soooo gonna marry that girl.”</p><p>At this, Cloud paused wiping his face with a napkin, all traces of indignation scattered by genuine surprise. “You serious?”</p><p>“Hell yeah, I’m serious! Just waiting to stumble upon the perfect ring. It’s quite the quest, ya know?”</p><p>“I’ll bet.” </p><p>Grinning like he had no choice in the matter, Zack shuffled his chair closer. “With any luck, I’ll be blissfully locked down by Spring break! I got plans, man. <em> Big </em>plans. I’m thinking an orchestra. And flowers. Fireworks for sure! Would a skywriter be too over the top?” </p><p>“Just about the rim of it, I’d say,” Cloud said with a teasing smirk. “Hope you got some sign she’s gonna say yes first.” </p><p>“Pft. Of course she’ll say yes….why?” The ecstatic expression flickered as the most horrendous of possibilities descended like a flock of piranhas. “You think she won’t say yes?” </p><p>Cloud let him stew in uncertainty for a mere few seconds before noticing his friend was becoming truly upset. So rarely had he the chance to offer support, that he leapt at the opportunity. “<em> Of course </em>she’ll say yes. You two are perfect. Annoyingly so.” </p><p>“Okay. Phew! Thanks, man. Wait! That gives me an idea!”</p><p>And here we go. </p><p>Zack was famously a diehard romantic. That is to say completely and unabashedly <em> nuts </em>, but romantic. Thank goodness the ethics code frowned upon staff members of the opposite sex co-mingling and forced them to keep their relationship on the down low, or Cloud likely would have been dragged into some gaudy and/or semi-suicidal wingman stunt at least twice a week. </p><p>“You do stuff to metal, right?” </p><p>Cloud grimaced after swallowing another bite of pie. “Depends on what you mean by ‘stuff’?” </p><p>“YOU! Hot damn, of course, you!” Clapping his hands triumphantly, he leaned his chair back until it was balancing on two legs. “She’d love- I’m a gosh darn sparkling ball of smartituity!” </p><p>“Seriously, <em> how </em>do you teach this language of which you can barely speak?” Reaching behind, Cloud titled Zack’s chair back onto the floor, knowing Aerith was too busy to stitch the guy’s head closed for the seventh time. </p><p>“Isn’t it obvious, bro?”</p><p>“Told you never to call me-” </p><p>“You’ll help me <em> make </em>a ring for Aerith!” </p><p>As he was about to skewer the final bite, his arm was hit by an excess burst of strength and the pie remains exploded, littering the whole table, fork prongs crumpled as if made of aluminum paper.</p><p>Zack, as usual, pretended not to notice. “Come on, Cloud. Don’t leave me hanging. What do you think? Isn’t it romantic as hell?”</p><p> “I think it’s a bad Dungeons &amp; Demons campaign come to life,” he muttered under his breath, scanning the room to make sure no one was paying them attention. “With fewer dragons and yet many more third-degree burns.” </p><p>“Can you stop impersonating the fucking Sphinx for one second and just talk to me? Is the ring thing possible?” </p><p>“Of course it’s <em> possible </em> . The same way eating a pine cone is technically <em> possible </em>.” </p><p>“What <em> the fuck </em> does <em> that </em> mean?! Gah! You’re the worst!” </p><p>Dropping the now mangled fork, Cloud brought a hand to his forehead and groaned. “You do remember that I work with machines, not jewelry, right? So unless you want her wearing a slice of intake valve on her finger...” </p><p>“Even you can be capable of delicacy with the right incentive,” he insisted with a wink. “She won’t care what it’s made of or what it looks like, just that we made it. You know how Aerith is. She cherishes that stupid poem I wrote on a napkin our first date more than any fancy present.” Zack glanced in the direction she had departed with such wistfulness that Cloud nearly gagged. “She cares more about the thought - the symbolism - than the flash.” </p><p>“Says the guy whose proposal plan requires alerting the fire brigade.”</p><p>“Fine. You’re right. I’ll tone it down. But come on. Please. Please. PLEASE!” He hooked his arm through Cloud’s and leaned onto his shoulder, looking up at him with disconcertingly puppy-like, azure eyes. “I’ll even pay you for it,” he offered as a last resort. </p><p>This made Cloud stiffen, realizing how extremely selfish it would be to deny him - the guy who had saved his life in a thousand different ways - this one favor. </p><p>He’d do anything for him. </p><p>Even eat a pinecone. </p><p>“Lucky for you,” he said after shaking him off like a pesky mosquito. “I’m running a special on engagement rings. It’ll cost you one ride to the city so that I can visit mom.”</p><p>“Oh, hella SOLD! Maybe, if I deem your skills skillful enough, I’ll even let you be my best man too.” </p><p>“Pshh. Like you have any other option.” Cloud wanted to say it nonchalantly, but it was impossible to completely mask the tightness in his throat. “But the deal’s off if you don’t let me finish my damn meal in peace.”</p><p>“All good! Huzzah! You’re the best, bro!” </p><p>“Don’t call me-” The request fell into a defeated sigh as Zack grabbed his head and placed a firm kiss upon his crown, accentuated by a booming <em> ‘Muwahhh!’. </em>“Cut it out before people get the wrong idea about us.” </p><p>“Ha! You should be so lucky. I’m out of your league.” </p><p>Though it was a mere joke, this conservative school had fired people for dumber reasons and Cloud could not help but survey their surroundings yet again. Hojo now had an eye on them from a table on the opposite end of the room, but that was nothing new from Doctor Creepy. He had his eye on everyone at all times, as though the whole world beyond his spectacles was an exhibition tank. </p><p>“You’ll need to make me a design sketch and find a stone,” Cloud instructed in a whisper. “I can probably wrangle some quality silver but if you want anything fancier, you’ll need to-” </p><p>“Silver is perfection. Man, am I pumped for this! Woohoo!” </p><p>“Really? I couldn't tell.” Pointedly, Cloud dragged Aerith’s coffee mug away to the far side of their table. “On a completely unrelated note, I recommend decaf from now on.” </p><p>“Speaking of <em> pumping </em> .” Zack swiveled and pinned him with that look: one that assured he was about to have his balls busted. “Now that I got you alone, refresh my memory: what <em> exactly </em> went down with you and Ms.-” </p><p>The crackle of the intercom interrupted. </p><p>
  <em> “Mr. Strife, you are summoned to the Headmistress’ office. Cloud Strife to the Headmistress’ office.” </em>
</p><p>Cloud, though slightly freaked out by the well-timed summons, chose not to look the gift horse in the mouth. Jumping to his feet and grabbing his leather satchel, he sprinted out of the room before Zack could piece together another joke.  </p><hr/><p>The staff room had been designed as a control booth of sorts; a closed upper balcony with one wall of windows that overlooked the student cafeteria and lounge in the east wing of the building, beside the gym. Alternatively, the headmistress’s office was part of the ancient, central temple structure, with its main entrance on a floor above the altar just in case whoever was in charge needed to fall to their knees and pray at any given moment. Considering the privilege level of the average student, Cloud imagined that happened quite often. </p><p>The frustrating part was that if you didn’t have permission to use the private back staircase or terrace, normal visitors had to venture through the temple proper for access. Cloud had many reasons to avoid the holy place. The most prevalent of which was-</p><p>“Good afternoon, Mr. Strife!”</p><p>Dammit. </p><p>Primar Domino popped up from behind the podium just as Cloud was passing, like a terrifying, antique jack-in-the-box. He wouldn’t have put it past the guy to have been hiding there, waiting for his arrival since the intercom announcement. </p><p>The thin, bald man was wearing a pinstriped suit as there were no assemblies or services that day. His job between such ceremonies, as far as Cloud could tell, was to provide confession for those who desired and to straight up harass those who didn’t. </p><p>“Afternoon, Primar Domino,” he greeted as politely as he could manage. Gesturing to the double wood doors leading to the Headmistress’ lobby and office above, he tried to cut things short. “I’m just on my way to-”</p><p>“I expect you’ll be joining Saturday services this semester, Mr. Strife? Your students and colleagues living on campus have all noted your absence.”</p><p>Cloud’s fists clenched around the strap of his satchel. “With all do respect, no, sir. I will not.”</p><p>“Oh,” Domino nodded, clearly unimpressed. “Is it because you visit your mother on the weekends, correct? At St-Lucretia?” </p><p>At this point, Cloud worried the heat of his palms would scorch the leather. He swallowed down the impulse to scream <em> ‘it is none of your damn business’ </em> and instead muttered “Yes.”</p><p>Another nod and pointed stare, something about it seeming like an invitation to duel. “You know, dear Cloud, it is no secret that you're not exactly a...believer.” </p><p>That was the understatement of the decade, but Cloud had been well trained by Zack and had the default response fully loaded. “I practice privately.”</p><p>“Hmm. Indeed. Well, my boy, whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re going through, if you ever need to talk, or - perhaps - want to attempt finding peace, know that the Goddess-”</p><p>“I gotta go.” Feeling the static start to build in his head, Cloud headed for the stairs with renewed purpose, bolting away from Domino and his bullshit offerings. </p><p>Peace via talking to some imaginary, robed woman. </p><p>What a joke. </p><p>“Afternoon, Strifey.” He had been on such a warpath that he hardly noticed entering the waiting area until Yuffie Kisaragi, the Headmistress’ bubbly young assistant, greeted him from her desk by the inner doors. “Good to see ya! She’ll be with you in a minute. Just wrapping up things with Raspberry.”</p><p>And he had thought this day couldn’t get any more awkward. </p><p>Out of some primordial instinct, Cloud backed up against the wall when one of the double doors opposite opened and out came Jessie Raspberry; known around campus as the Dramatic Arts teacher but, to a select few, she was the only date Cloud had gone on in years, just a few short weeks ago. </p><p>Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well. He had done his best to avoid her since.  </p><p>“Well, look who it is.” The self-assured woman, dressed in high-waisted tan slacks and a burgundy blouse, sauntered forward and into his personal space. </p><p>Cloud gulped. “Hi Jes- I mean, Ms. Raspberry.”</p><p>“You never called,” she stated through a pout, as shameless as always even with the headmaster’s assistant lingering nearby. Over her shoulder, Cloud saw Yuffie giggle beneath her hand. </p><p>“Sorry,” was the only thing Cloud could think to say, his mind feeling stretched like a piece of taffy between the minutes old clash with Domino and the upcoming interview with Tifa. This present conundrum he simply didn’t have the capacity to deal with. “I’ve been-”</p><p>“Busy. Yeah. I know.” Sighing dramatically, Jessie clamped a hand on his shoulder as her eyes raked over him like she was assessing a costume. “Your loss, I guess. We could have had some fun.”</p><p> Of that, Cloud had no doubt. Zack had banked on it when he had set them up.<em> ‘You need to just rip off the bandaid!’ </em> his evil friend had insisted while digging through his closet for anything other than his usual blue buttoned shirts; a pursuit Cloud knew very well to be pointless. <em> ‘Jessie’s the perfect starter for a dating life reset. She’s fun. She’s not clingy. She’s known to be, ya know, open minded.’  </em></p><p>This had become evident within the first ten seconds of the date, after she pressed herself against him, arms around his neck, stamping a sticky-lipgloss mark on the corner of his mouth that took hours to disperse, all in mere greeting. Thankfully, the woman was well versed in body language and knew to back off both then and now. She tossed him a wink just to see him fidget before sidestepping and heading back into the temple. </p><p>“See ya around, <em> Mr. </em> Strife.” </p><p>Without any other fanfare, it was his turn. </p><p>“The Headmistress will see you now,” announced Yuffie with a smug grin as her hand grasped the inner office doorknob.</p><p>Swallowing, Cloud summoned every wisp of courage he possessed and walked towards the psychological equivalent of the Gates to Hell. As he passed the threshold, Yuffie had the gall to whisper “Hope you’re wearing a cup” before closing the door behind him. </p><p>Turned out, <em> Gates to Hell </em> wasn’t much of an exaggeration. </p><p>The first thing Cloud noticed was how deathly <em> hot </em> the room was. Especially compared to the chilly stone walls of the temple. </p><p>In contrast, the office was all warm tones and wood paneling, the furniture covered in either gold velvet or polished brown leather. The Headmistress was seated at the core of it all, behind a mahogany desk so large and ornate she looked a bit like a child playing professional. Behind her, an impractically wide bay window looked over a private stone terrace with a perfect, panoramic view of the sports field and mini-forest beyond. Even his office-woodshed could be seen to the far left, the gazebo and pond behind the gym to the far right. </p><p>She wore a black, ruffled, sleeveless blouse and no jacket this time, fanning herself with a folder in one hand while holding away sweat soaked bangs with the other, eyes glued to the papers strewn about the desktop. Her mass of dark hair was twisted up into a gold clip, which gave him a bit of a thrill, since he had never seen it styled in such a way.</p><p>He hated himself for thinking she looked more gorgeous than ever and shoved the thought aside like any other ill-timed craving. </p><p>“Come in, come in.” She gestured to the visitor’s chairs beyond the desk without looking up. “Apologies for the sauna. Maintenance is looking into repairing the air conditioning. Or so they tell me.”</p><p>Cloud smirked as he lowered himself into the seat. Oh, maintenance. With any luck, maybe they’d get around to it sometime before the current set of freshmen graduated. </p><p>“You know,” he said, twisting his satchel onto his lap. “I could always take a look if you want?” </p><p>At the sound of his voice, something seemed to have clicked and Tifa stopped fanning herself. Looking up from her work, her eyes widened as though confronted with a monster from a childhood nightmare. She abruptly sat up straight and stopped fussing with her hair, unaware that the jarring movement had caused a red bra strap to slip from beneath her blouse and onto her shoulder. </p><p>The mere glimpse of it made his heart start pounding in his ears and he forced all his focus onto her face and face alone.</p><p>Red was for good luck and special occasions, she had declared those many moons ago. </p><p>Why did it have to be <em> red </em>? </p><p>Up close, he confirmed that she physically hadn’t changed much in a little under a decade. Perhaps her face was more angular, eyelashes longer thanks to a swipe or two of mascara, but was otherwise the same old Tifa of Nibelheim just in fancier clothes. She still had those large, doe eyes that were a unique shade of carmine and had always reminded him of the last rays of sunset reflected on the lake. Still petite yet solid, naturally and effortlessly attractive, like an uncut diamond.  </p><p>Under the pressure of her matching scrutiny, Cloud scratched the back of his head where the ponytail he donned as a teenager used to sprout. He supposed he looked pretty similar too, besides the hair which he had cut mere hours before leaving town, plus having grown a couple of inches taller. Otherwise he was still frustratingly slim, probably couldn’t grow a beard if his life depended on it, but at least he had his, allegedly, piercing aquamarine eyes that Zack insisted were his best, most unique feature. Even Tifa had professed her appreciation for them. Once upon a time. </p><p>“Mr. Strife,” she said after half a minute of unadulterated gawking, clearing her throat and adjusting her seat. “It’s a pleasur- Umm...nice to meet you.”</p><p>Cloud’s stomach plummeted towards his shoes. </p><p>So they were to play the roles of strangers. </p><p>“Nice to meet you,” he parroted, carefully indifferent.</p><p>“And you teach...” Shuffling around the mess of documents and empty tea mugs, she plucked out a paper and held it to the light. “<em> Industrial Arts </em>, correct?”</p><p>“That’s correct.”</p><p>“I see that you have a Masters of Mechanical Engineering from Midgar U, with high honors. Impressive.” Cloud swallowed a scoff. A Masters was the lowest degree one had to have obtained to be hired here. She was indulging him and oh how he hated it. “The only thing that surprised me is that you took no education-centric electives and have no related experience. What brought you to teaching at Midgar Preparatory?”</p><p>He was tempted to tell the truth: it was desperation. On both his side and the school’s. The very same incentive that had likely landed her this job. Instead, he chose to mirror her cold professionalism. </p><p>“I have an English as a Second Language certification, so I was trained in the basics. <em> Don’t slap the kids </em>, etc.. I was hired on recommendation from Mr. Fair.” </p><p>“Hmm. Not slapping students is indeed the least I would expect from my faculty,” she muttered tersely.</p><p>So she didn’t like to joke nowadays. Good to know. </p><p>“Moving on. I suppose the only real issue I have with your syllabus is…” She flipped open the folder she had been fanning herself with for dramatic effect. The prop was unnecessary since they both knew very well what it contained. Bupkis. “It doesn't seem to exist.” </p><p>He knew this day would come. It just sucked that he had to defend his unique methods while simultaneously trying to keep his gaze diverted from the low-dipping V of a silk blouse.  </p><p>“I was a last-minute hire when the previous teacher...retired.” Cloud felt no need to repeat whispers of exactly what led to the abrupt departure. All he knew, according to Jessie before he could cut her off, was that Mr. Palmer had been a little too friendly with a few of her aspiring-actress students. “I’ve only been on staff since late summer, four days before the school year began.” </p><p>“And that’s an acceptable excuse because…?” </p><p>Cloud flushed with vexation which, on the bright side, voided all other inappropriate sentiments. “<em> Because </em> my predecessor was still teaching those kids how to build <em> steam </em>engines or useless cut-by-number shadow boxes. I had to reconfigure and restock the workshop from scratch to be up to code, not to mention upgrade the computers, on the most stripped of budgets might I add, so-” </p><p>“I’m not hearing any reason to not have a course outline at least. The parents of Midgar Preparatory pay good money to be able to track their children’s progress.” </p><p>“They can track how successful their kids are by the functionality and stability of their final projects.”</p><p>“I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Strife.” Tossing the folder aside, Tifa leaned over the desk to pin him with those probing, dark eyes of hers. By habit, he defended through leaning back a similar number of inches. “Considering your low elective sign up and nontraditional methods, the board is seriously considering cutting Shop class.” </p><p>“Industrial Arts” he corrected, hands gripping his knees. </p><p>“Whatever it’s called, blue-collar work obviously isn’t on the minds of most Midgar Preparatory Students. And, according to my many briefings on the subject, it <em> shouldn’t </em>be on their minds.” </p><p>Cloud bristled, biting his tongue to suppress a rant. The implication was such elitist lunacy it made him want to scream. </p><p>Noticing his refusal to rebut, Tifa huffed a deep breath.</p><p>“Look. Bottom line because I am too busy to debate-” Or most likely, based on the bead of sweat trailing down her throat, she was too uncomfortable to. “Unless you can somehow make your class more appealing, relevant and organized, your contract won’t be renewed next year. Understood?” </p><p>Those eyes pinned him to his chair again, but this time, instead of sunset on the lake, they reminded him of coals on the edge of catching fire. He was tempted to do something stupid. Perhaps to swipe the ocean of papers off her desk, lean forward and request the most indecent of severance packages; a proper reunion and goodbye in one passion-laced swoop. They had done riskier things way back when. Then he remembered why he had accepted this job in the first place and all the fight drained out of him like a pin-pricked balloon. </p><p>Beggars could not afford the luxury of being quitters. At least not yet. </p><p>“To confirm: my contract is locked in till the end of the semester, barring any breaches, right? Do I still have access privileges at St. Lucretia?” </p><p>Tifa blinked, the flames of her scrutiny dying a little. “Yes. But-” </p><p>“Then whatever.” Cloud stood and shifted his satchel strap up onto his shoulder. “Once this school year is done, I’m out. Do whatever you want with the class.” </p><p>“Clo-Mr. Strife. Wait!” </p><p>He already had his hand on the knob with every intention of walking out when she leapt out of her chair and ran over to stop him. </p><p>How he wished it was Heidegger. Heidegger he could have flipped the bird behind his back and been satisfied. With Heidegger, he could have waited out the clock and pretended he didn’t care.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to...” She sighed and he felt the breeze of it against the back of his sticky neck. “I’m only asking for some paper evidence of what you do so that I can include it in a new, formal curriculum document. Surely that’s not so difficult?” </p><p>“It’s an advanced, creative mechanics class,” he explained with barely suppressed disdain. “You learn via discovery and every student is at a different level. What do you expect me to do, glue googly eyes onto pistons? It’s a waste of time.”</p><p>“Just...figure it out, Mr. Strife!” Tifa insisted, equally if not more exasperated. “I’ll give you until the spring break to place a properly formatted syllabus on my desk or I will have no choice but to consider it a contract breach and immediately void your benefits. Okay?” </p><p>He remembered certain things then. Beyond the lust and awe, there had been oh-so-many instances of outrage after she handed him citation after citation as hall monitor or when she corrected his posture while he fiddled with the piano. </p><p>He remembered hoping she would fall on her face almost as often as he had wished she would fall into his arms.</p><p>Funny how those negative elements had faded over the years while the fantasy of teenage Tifa had mutated in shape and strength into something beyond human. Up until this very day, she had been this untouchable, perfect idol living in his mind; a wayward spirit that had once blessed him with her favor. </p><p>Not anymore. </p><p>This Tifa - human, <em> adult </em>, Tifa - was more of an earthbound, stubborn jerk than he was. </p><p>“Fine!” he spat, reaching for the doorknob, itching to get to his woodshed where he could blow off some steam. A hand on his bicep stopped him before he could take a step. </p><p>“Cloud…” He had barely felt the touch before it was gone, yanked back as though burned. For him, at least, it felt like firecrackers exploding down his arm into his twitching fingers. </p><p>Careful to appear impassive, he turned. For she had called him by his first name. That alone warranted attention.  </p><p>The Headmistress, suddenly more demure than authoritative, took a lunging step backwards and bit at her bottom lip. “Just to be clear,” she began, so quietly that he struggled to make out the words, those carmine eyes soft and pleading. “Is it safe to assume that our... <em> history </em>won’t affect our working relationship?” </p><p>There it was. Acknowledgement at last. </p><p>No thanks to her attitude, he had legitimately worried that summer had been a fantasy; some alternate reality summoned by his teenage loneliness, where the beautiful, popular, intelligent Tifa Lockhart had desired a loser like him. </p><p>“Of course, Headmistress Lockhart,” he responded with the utmost earnestness. “I’m a professional.”</p><p>Tifa’s jaw unclenched for the first time since he entered the room. However, before she completely unfurled, he couldn’t resist tacking on one last reminder. </p><p>“By the way.” Casually, he gestured toward her shoulder where the exposed bra strap was still slipping down. “Glad to know you still favor red.” </p><p>While she was still fighting between mortified and furious, shoving the strap back up beneath her blouse, Cloud took his leave, smirking as the door slammed behind him. </p><p>He had never acted so ruthlessly arrogant in his life and yet felt justified considering the harsh changes she was forcing onto his, Zack’s and presumably everyone else’s courses. As an engineer, nothing irritated him more than having to revisit a completely sleek, fully functional design just because some higher-ups didn’t think it looked flashy enough.</p><p>He was halfway out of a thankfully Domino-free temple when his PHS buzzed. Plopping down in the nearest pew, he fished the thing out of his satchel to find a new message from his mom. At least he thought it was his mom. The effects of his midnight depravity were just starting to wear off and he struggled to focus on the words already mangled by the cracked screen, cursing himself for not thinking to pack his glasses in his bag. He had just started to make out something about craft supplies when a tremor shot through his fingers and the phone clattered to the ground.</p><p>With an annoyed breath, he reached down to retrieve it and as soon as he straightened up, there was Domino seated a few rows ahead with his arm resting over the back of the pew. </p><p> “Holy shit!” Cloud nearly jumped out of his skin. As creepy as the guy was, Cloud knew that wouldn’t excuse his swearing in the temple and he didn’t want to give Lockhart any more ammunition to cut his contract and benefits short. “S-sorry, Primar.” </p><p>The corner of Primar Domino’s lip curled into an intimidating smile. “Are you, really, though?”</p><p><em> Really </em>not in the mood, Cloud shook his head and resumed the escape path. He had a lot of work to do. In its current draft state, Marlene and Denzel’s engine wouldn’t take them as far as the parking lot.  </p><p>He was just beyond the inner temple doors, in a T-shaped corridor that connected to both wings’ atriums, when a new art piece caught his eye via a flash of color. Squinting, he strode right up into the statue’s face to find focus without the aid of his glasses. It was a typical white marble Goddess with her emerald eyes, gold halo and flowing robes, the whole <em> ‘behold! The perfect embodiment of chastity and virtue’ </em> shebang. However, this one was much more macabre than the standard decoration. A deep crevasse had been chiseled out the center of her chest and stomach, revealing an anatomically correct human heart and sharp ribs dripping with dark-red precious stones. It was the red that had attracted him, he figured, unaccustomed to seeing such a violent shade in this frigid space.</p><p>Cloud frowned at the thing, of half a mind to turn back and insist the Primar take it down lest the students develop night terrors. But he hesitated. Half because he didn’t want to give the guy any opening for conversation and half because there was one scripture passage that had managed to lodge itself into his brain and this piece, somehow, summoned it. </p><p>
  <em> “She will be the light that guides you when darkness threatens to consume all. Upon request, she will loan you her protection, her comforts, her still-beating heart ripped from her chest for you to feast upon and ease your pangs of hunger and thirst. All she asks in return is for you to love others the same as you love her.” </em>
</p><p>Blinking rapidly, Cloud turned his back on the piece and headed to the west wing, unable to stomach the sight. </p><p>If today had confirmed anything, it was that Goddesses, no matter how perfectly your hopes and memory carved them, didn’t really exist.</p><hr/><p><b>**Author’s Note**:</b> Thank you all for both the uplifting and the constructively critical feedback this story has received. Special shout out to @Perlmuttt for the beautiful Mr. Strife fan art and, as always, @DrWafflepuff for his awesome beta-ing powers. I acknowledge it’s a bit of a slow roast (as opposed to burn), with mysteries piling upon mysteries. Apparently, I accidentally outlined events more as a speed-read novel than a slowly unfurling fan story. Oops. Aiming for quick updates to keep people from getting lost in the storyline.  </p><p>I very much love reading comments, so please do not hesitate to leave one if you were somewhat entertained or even if you want to yell at me haha. I also recently succumbed to a Twitter account, @AmeMayonaka, and am glad to interact with fellow fans there. Love to all you generous, brilliant Clotis! &lt;3</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Physics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “The application of basic physical concepts to biological systems. Topics include forces and motion, energy and metabolism, thermodynamics, and fluid dynamics.” </em>
</p><p>[ : <b>The Curriculum</b> : ]</p><p>Chapter 3 | Physics</p><p>The first spears of sunlight were charging over the horizon as Cloud ushered Denzel, Wymer, Andrea and Marlene onto the dew-sparkling grass of the campus backyard. Winter semester’s premiere week was concluding, the weather hot but bearably so, and already, during double-period the previous day, five students had broken his three-strikes rule; tossing incessant catty remarks and pointed insults that, admittedly, had their teacher chortling as much as they pissed him off. </p><p>Regardless of wit, rules were rules and this one he was especially proud of. </p><p>Whenever it had been Cloud’s turn to watch the Friday detention group, he was irked by how bored the students looked, simply sitting at a desk waiting out the clock, the only real consequence to their actions being their asses falling asleep. Thus, when those in <em> his </em> class crossed the line, he preferred to conscript aid procuring materials. That could mean either accompanying him to the junkyard to haul scraps, dumpster diving for bits and bobs left over from the other labs or - as was the case today - chopping timber for the Sophomore’s introduction to woodworking. </p><p>Two birds with one axe. </p><p>“Pick up the pace, people!” He called as they jogged through the trees towards his ‘office’ woodshed.</p><p>“I am <em> not </em> wearing appropriate shoes, Mr. Strife,” griped Andrea from the back of the pack in his suave foreign accent, attempting to keep up on his tiptoes. “These are custom, patent-leather loafers!”  </p><p>“Not my problem, Rhodea. Should have thought of that before calling Septina a-” He struggled to remember the exact jibe.</p><p>“That if she were any more inbred, she’d be a sandwich.” </p><p>Hearing the quip for the first time, Denzel snorted so hard he nearly choked.</p><p>“Yes. That. That was bad and thus here you are. Moving on!”</p><p>“Why isn’t Shinra gracing us with his presence?” Wymer complained, the slightly heftier kid already huffing from exertion. “He was the bitchiest one of us all.”</p><p>On that point, Cloud would not argue. Rupert Shinra, as always, liked to toss pebbles into otherwise perfect machines. As the kid was one of the few who lived off campus, in a private estate supposedly of similar size to this very school but on the opposite side of Sector 4, he was exempt from such extracurriculars since the commute would have had him out of bed during what was technically the middle of the night.  </p><p>“Shinra will be getting his own, unique detention.” Cloud assured them, already daydreaming about that old motorbike husk he wanted dismantled and every piece, down to the screws, scrubbed of oil residue. </p><p>Just desserts would be served. Hot and greasy.</p><p>“Whoa. Hold up.” Three-quarters of the way out, Denzel skidded to a stop and grabbed the back of Wymer’s vest to force him to join, holding a hand up to his forehead to shield against the sun as he stared out onto the central sports field. With half the group immobilized, Cloud had no choice but to fall back. </p><p>“Guys. What’s going-” </p><p>Then he heard them. The girl’s senior field hockey team happened to have dawn practice that day. Their coach had likely chosen this unpopular slot for privacy since, as was league standard and due to the unseasonable heat, their uniform was but a green pinnie and very, <em> very </em> short black kilt. The result was more bare limbs than Denzel and Wymer had probably ever seen live and they reacted exactly how one would expect suppressed teenage boys to react. They were practically catatonic. </p><p>Cloud groaned. What shitty timing. </p><p>“<em> Seriously </em>?” Marlene, who had been far ahead of everyone, jogged back to see what all the fuss was about. “I’m missing coffee and cartoons with my dad to watch the testosterone-twins drool?”</p><p>“Suppose I’m not the only one concerned with slipping on hardwood today, hmm?” Andrea drawled with a salacious smirk, tapping the heels of his fancy loafers. </p><p>“Pretending I didn’t hear that.” Sidestepping the two functional teens, Cloud confronted Denzel and Wymer whose mouths were blatantly hanging open, gawking at the field as though it were the Promised Land. “Hey. Neanderthals.” He snapped a finger in front of their faces to break the spell. “Eyes over here. We have a job to do.” </p><p>“Sorry, Mr. Strife,” they both sputtered. </p><p>One would think that would be the end of it, but as they made their way deeper into the woods, the two starstruck boys kept peeking over their shoulders. More than once, Denzel tripped over a root and full-on face-planted in the dirt. Cloud winced to think what may happen once either of them had an actual tool in hand. </p><p>“Okay my delinquents, listen up! I need boards and you need to be punished, thus here we are. You know I pride myself on efficiency.” </p><p>As he reviewed the species they’d encounter and various other tips and tricks, Wymer and Denzel kept trying (and failing) to subtly glance behind them, Andrea was picking at his polished nails and Marlene, the only one paying attention, seemed to become increasingly disturbed. At the end of his lecture, her hand shot up like she was trying to catch a bullet. </p><p>“Mr. Strife, are you seriously insisting that we <em> kill </em>a tree?” she asked, voice wavering. “Isn’t this whole campus, like, endangered?” </p><p>“I’m asking you to gather wood, Marlene. Wood is renewable, unlike other materials, as long as we don’t over indulge. Check this out.” He gestured to the north side of the shed and they all made their way around the corner to find over twenty saplings planted in neat little rows. Marlene gasped and ran over to them, gushing as if there were actual babies. “We use one, we plant two. That’s how we survive as a species. So go find me a suitable candidate, not too old, not too young, not too hard, not too soft-”</p><p>“That’s what he sai-”</p><p>“Knock it off, Andrea. Call me over if anyone finds something suitable and we’ll fell it together. Andrea, Marlene: search anywhere. Wymer, Denzel: head north.”</p><p>Both their faces dropped in disappointment. North was the opposite direction of the field hockey players. “Why do we have to-”</p><p>“Because it’s too much paperwork to send you home without all ten fingers attached.” He handed them both axes, blades down, handle up. “Trust me, it’s for your own good. Now go.” </p><p>After they scattered, Cloud took a moment to check-up on his other wards; the trees. As he caressed the leaves and ensured there were no signs of rot or pests, just like Aerith had taught him, he thought of Ruvie Tuesti missing the first week of school, making it official that she had no plans to return as it would be impossible to catch up. Ruvie was the one who had helped him acquire the saplings, live plants being rare and impossibly expensive around Midgar. </p><p>Tightening a burgundy and gold striped ribbon, the Tuesti colors, which held the stick-like trunks to a bracing pole, he wondered yet again if she really was ‘knocked-up’ like Cid Highwind hypothesized. Then the notion was dropped like a rotten potato. </p><p>It was none of his business. </p><p>Only here, surrounded by nature just beginning to blossom, could he admit that he, perhaps, missed the kid. The group’s balance was off without her calming, determined presence wrangling them into line, inspiring everyone to focus and learn. Marlene was definitely more snippy and Denzel fumbled whatever tool he was in the midst of using whenever her name was mentioned.</p><p>Whatever personal reasons were dire enough for her to be pulled out of school in the middle of the Junior year, it sucked. It completely and totally <em> sucked. </em></p><p>“Found a good walnut!” he heard Denzel yell from somewhere deeper in the trees. </p><p>“On my way!” Cloud called back, sweeping the area for the saw he usually kept lodged in a chopping block. </p><p>He was still searching for it when his gaze happened to wander above the tree-line to the back of the school building. All that was visible from this vantage point were the temple turrets and one central terrace he knew led to the Headmistress’ office. Throughout Heidegger’s tenure, Cloud had never concerned himself with being watched as the man wasn’t exactly the type to appreciate fresh air and nature. He should have figured that Tifa, a fellow born-and-raised country girl, would have different inclinations.</p><p>Though the sky was still shaded in burnt oranges and pinks, there she was, one leg up on the wrought iron handrail as she stretched, wearing fitted violet yoga clothes including shorts so small and tight that no single crease was left to the imagination. </p><p>Cloud couldn’t help it. His eyes got stuck and would not, for the life of him, move. </p><p>It proved necessary to amend the declaration he had made earlier in the week, after seeing her in layers of silk and polyester. The heart shape of her face may not have changed much, but the body up on that terrace was not the same one he had explored in Nibelheim. That girl, though tantalizing when they were both teens, had been on the mere cusp of true womanhood: her hips had been slim, chest shapely but humble, muscles toned from various sporting endeavors but not defined. Not like this. </p><p>Present day Tifa may as well have been carved from marble. Even from a distance, he could see the bulge of her triceps and deltoids as she linked hands behind her back and pushed her chest out. The eastern light brought the ridges of her abdominals into sharp relief and her breasts...<em> Holy </em> . Even tempered by a sports bra, their profile was richly convex. Appreciating the unadulterated power and femininity of her shape, his heartbeat automatically swung on an uptick, tongue tasting of dust and sparks, fists clenched in frustration that they were empty. He was about to rip his gaze away, vowing to be more respectful and less weird, when Tifa folded over so that the crown of her head touched her toes. When those <em> evil </em>shorts rode up even higher, he swore every drop of hot, rebellious blood in his body started clambering down toward-</p><p>“Son of a-!” </p><p>Cloud found himself wrestling the embrace of a prickly young pine that he had walked straight into the arms of. Only his glasses saved him from being blinded.</p><p>Fortunately, a handful of sharp needles to the face proved to be just as effective as a cold shower. </p><p> “Heyyyyyy! Mr. Strifeeeee?” Denzel bellowed in a sing-song from a few paces away as Cloud mussed bits of bark out of his hair. “Eyes over here, ehhhhhh?!”</p><p>Disqualifying one preposterous excuse after another, Cloud merely frowned while Denzel and Wymer dissolved into chuckles.</p><p>Touché, fellow Neanderthals. </p><p>Touché.</p><hr/><p>“I swear, it’s like herding a bunch of horny cats!” Zack muttered while grabbing two bowls of rice pudding from the dessert case, dropping one on his tray, the other on Cloud’s. </p><p>Apparently, his friend had an equally difficult morning getting through a classic love scene with his English Lit. Junior class, who kept giggling and making lewd double entendres the entire time. The current theory was that the lawn has been sprayed with aphrodisiac instead of pesticide over the break.</p><p>“They’re teenagers,” Cloud excused quietly, eyeing a nearby table of arm-wrestling freshmen before reaching for a second pudding bowl to complement his potatoes and toast. “Isn’t that how they always are?”</p><p>“Sure but...it’s Act III of Loveless, man! That first scene is, like, the reason I do what I do. Wish they’d get their shit together and let its romantic brilliance marinate a little between wisecracks. That’s all.”</p><p>“Yeah. I get it.” Sliding over to the cash, they scanned their staff IDs prior to heading up the staircase to the staffroom which overlooked the long, gleaming steel tables occupied by students. “I’m teaching the Sophomores basic carpentry during double-period this afternoon. Got ten detention slips already pre-labeled with ‘made one too many <em> wood </em>jokes’.”</p><p>There was no need to expand on how rife with opportunities the subject was and yet, for unknown reasons, Zack felt the need to try. </p><p>“<em> Hard wood. Soft wood. Drill. Grind. Butt joint. </em> Hmm. I do not envy you, friend. Try not to roll your eyes so hard they fall out of your face. Ooo, and let’s not forget the elusive <em> dove-tail joint </em>.”</p><p>“Dove-tail joint?” Having pushed open the door with his shoulder, Cloud held it for Zack to shimmy through with his much more overladen tray. “How is that dirty?”</p><p>“Dove?” He made a bobbing motion with his neck. “Tail? Joint? You know what I mean.”</p><p>“I really don’t.”</p><p>“But you can <em> imagine… </em>”</p><p>“Nope. Have no desire to even try.”</p><p>“Well excuuuuuse me for attempting to expand your horizons.”</p><p>Cloud pressed his lips together, unwilling to be pulled into that argument and possibly wrangled into another humiliating date.</p><p>Weaving through the other staff members, they soon found Aerith munching on a chicken salad at Cloud’s favorite, shadowed, corner table with the wonky leg. Seemed like the medic had decided to humor him at last, even though she had to shove a paperback novel under the shortest foot to keep her food from sliding to the floor. Cloud felt a mere pulse of affection for her efforts. </p><p>The stage was set to become the same, boring lunch period as always. Except for one, excessively loud difference. </p><p>“Heya Strife!”</p><p>Yuffie Kisaragi, the Headmistress’ assistant, was sitting in his spot. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” he spat a lot more gruffly than intended. Thankfully, Yuffie was immune and stuck out her tongue. </p><p>“Now now, can ya blame me for escaping? I used to eat at my desk so that I could catch up on my Wutain soaps but, nowadays, the boss keeps requesting a ‘quick favor’ every two minutes. I can hardly get two bites in my mouth let alone find out if Miyaka accidentally married her fiancé’s twin!” </p><p>“Sounds rough,” Zack sympathized after sliding into the seat beside Aerith. “Not the twin thing, the other thing. I guess this crazy curriculum revamp she’s pushing for has everyone running around like chocobos with their heads cut off.”</p><p>“Mm-hmm,” Aerith agreed, poking listlessly at her food. “She even asked me to draft a board proposal for updating some of the med bay standards. Not that I don’t believe certain parts can’t be improved after a hundred years, it’s just...the temple teachings insist…”</p><p> “Hey.” Sensing her discomfort, Zack dared to reach over and squeeze her hand. “If it bugs you, maybe talk to Mireille about it after tomorrow’s service, hmm?” </p><p>“Yes. You’re right. She’ll know what to do.” Bright smile screwed back in place, Aerith looked up at Cloud who was still standing by, awkwardly clenching his tray. “You know Cloud, since the school’s service with Domino doesn’t appeal to you, you’re always welcome to join my temple down in the Sector 5 slums? I promise, Primaress Mireille isn’t at all like-”</p><p>“Not interested,” he interrupted brusquely.  </p><p>“Oh. Okay then. N-Never mind.”</p><p>Glaring, Zack kicked out the last remaining chair; the one with its back to the room, even though he knew Cloud hated not being able to survey his environment. Something in the guy’s eyes though, vivid blue like the center of a candle flame, prompted Cloud to get over it and get over it fast. Few things truly pissed Zack off, but someone snapping at the woman he loved - especially when she was just being her kind, generous self - was definitely one of them. </p><p>“Sorry,” Cloud muttered, accepting the offered seat. His tone was genuine enough that Zack expelled his fury in one deep breath before turning towards the new member of their posse. </p><p>“So. Despite the lunch time lack-of-drama, how’s working for the youngest, first female Headmistress this school has ever known?” </p><p>As if she had it stored inside her for hours if not days, Yuffie let out the longest, loudest of groans. </p><p>“Haaaaaard! Unlike Heidegger, the pure-bred peacock, Lockhart actually <em> does </em> things.” She stabbed at her shepherd's pie between sentences, as if it were to blame. “Honestly, I get exhausted just glancing at her schedule and to-do lists. On top of the infamous curriculum and budget updates, she humors paranoid parents, debates with board members, organizes bake sales and dances and cafeteria menus, yells at maintenance at least once an hour to finally get those damn air conditioners fixed. And she does it all wearing <em> heels </em>.”</p><p>“Wow. You make her sound like a superhero,” Zack said with legitimate astonishment, side-eyeing Cloud. “Quite the impressive woman.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, the jury’s out on the ‘woman’ thing. I don’t think she sleeps.” Shaking her head, Yuffie glanced towards the doors as if legitimately worried the Headmistress would traipse through and drag her back to the office by the hair. “Did I mention she also runs five kilometers and does yoga <em> every </em>morning at dawn? Seriously, how?! Why?! There’s being an overachiever and then there’s being a freakin cyborg.”</p><p>“She’s always been like that,” Cloud added, mindlessly stirring his pudding. “Since we were kids.” </p><p>Too late, he realized what he had inadvertently confessed. Glancing up, all eyes were fixed on him, Aerith and Yuffie’s wide with shock while Zack - goddamn Zack - leaned back in his chair with hands cradling his head, vibrating with suppressed laughter.  </p><p>“How would <em> you </em> know?” The assistant inquired with a cocked eyebrow. </p><p>Re-focusing on his food, Cloud hoped the question would dissolve like a passing storm upon them sensing his reluctance. In any other cluster of people, it probably would have. Zack, however, was clearly still a smidge pissed and Yuffie never let anything go, picking scabs to the point of scarring. </p><p>“They are from the same small town and went to school together,” Zack explained to get the ball rolling, ignoring his friend’s death glare. If this was to be payback, then it was mighty fucking petty. </p><p>Yuffie gasped in delight. “Really!?”</p><p>“She was a year below and we weren’t close or anything,” Cloud was quick to explain, praying that would be the end of it. Alas... </p><p>“Oh, please tell me something juicy! I know all about the academic prizes, the clubs, the martial arts trophies, valedictorian, etc.. But only <em> you </em>can validate if she’s ever done anything human and stupid like eat glue or drunkenly fall out a window.” </p><p>At a loss of how to respond, paralyzed by social tension, Cloud could only stare into the abyss of mashed potatoes and pray to drown in it. Aerith, Goddess bless her, attempted to come to his rescue. </p><p>“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Yuffie,” she insisted with an approving grin. “Cloud doesn’t believe in gossip.” </p><p>“What’s there to <em> believe </em> in? It’s the unearthing of facts, not the Solstice Goblin!” Shuffling her chair closer, Yuffie shoved her gargantuan ego into Cloud’s bubble, making him feel like a hen cornered by a yappy fox. “At least tell me who she dated in highschool. Girl like that certainly had her pick and I need to know her inclinations. Overly buff or lean or fluffy? Brunettes, redheads or blondes? Quiet nerds who spin poetry or sex-in-slacks jocks who can’t read but can rock your world?”</p><p>Goddess almighty. </p><p>With his eyes, Cloud tried to solicit help from Zack, but the guy was still chuckling, perfectly at ease watching him squirm like a worm on a hook. </p><p>Yuffie was losing patience. “If you don’t tell me, I’m just gonna dig up your yearbooks. Those things are all digitized nowadays for archival purposes, so unless you want me checking out <em> your </em> highschool stats, you may as well-” </p><p>The girl missed her calling as a goddamn spy. Cloud fell like a house of cards faced with a leafblower. </p><p>“She had been seeing a guy in my class. Summer Solstice Festival King and Queen two years running. Sporty. Popular.” Mentally flipping through the yearbook, he tried to say no more than would be obvious, as Tifa’s face often saturated the special event pages. “It ended some point around the time I left for college, and I haven’t seen or spoken to her since. The end.” </p><p>Unsatisfied, the ruthless assistant made one final lunge. “If they were such a hotshot couple in a small town, even you must have heard what happened? Did someone cheat? Ooo, did <em> she </em> cheat?” </p><p>Cloud closed his eyes and took a deep breath to remain calm. </p><p>“You have your info, Yuffie.” Aerith interjected, sensing him nearing the breaking point. “If he doesn’t want to talk about it, leave him be.” </p><p>“But none of this helps at all! What did-” </p><p>Abandoning his tray, Cloud stood and marched toward to exit without a word. </p><p>Certain facts, much like the Solstice Goblin, should stay dead and buried.</p><hr/><p>Yuffie’s interrogation nagged him well into the next morning. </p><p>It was barely seven on Saturday and his phone kept buzzing, most likely with Zack’s apologetic offers to join Aerith’s Sector 5 temple service or at least hitch a ride into the city. Nevertheless, he didn’t think he could handle even his mother in his current state. </p><p>He felt too restless. Too angry. Too much energy to expel, no thanks to the vial he had emptied the night before. </p><p>He waited, wearing a hole in the carpet of his studio unit as he paced, until the bells summoning faculty and students to the temple rang out. Only then did he dare to dress, pulling on the usual blue button down since they were the only shirts he owned, but forgoing the unnecessary glasses, slacks and tie for a pair of jeans instead. Shoving a piece of toast down his throat, he headed to the woodshed for some much needed distraction. Even with the detention group’s assistance, they had only had enough time to cleave half the walnut tree into logs. Plus, he had been told that staying active was important. </p><p>Arriving at the clearing sometime around ten am, hearing the choir chants from the temple wafting over the field like the stench from a bog, Cloud got to work. He had sawed off a mere single section when his shirt started sticking, no thanks to the sun beating upon his back. </p><p>Aiming to avoid laundry for at least one more day, he didn’t think twice about unbuttoning and stripping it off, hanging it on one of the nails hammered into the tin siding. The day was as sweltering as usual and promised to only get worse the closer it got to noon.</p><p>After sawing the remaining half tree into quarters, he dragged the logs over to the chopping block to prepare for splitting. Dripping with sweat while sharpening the axe, he was proud to note that he wasn’t at all tired yet. Oddly, he felt more energetic than ever, itching for the adrenaline rush of singing steel, twitching muscles and a job well done. </p><p>So went another hour, until the sun was at its highest and most threatening point in the sky. </p><p>Swing, crack, toss, next. Swing, crack, toss, next. </p><p>Before he knew it, he had run out of logs just as the temple bells rang out to announce the end of service. Perfect timing, as most students and staff claimed post-temple Saturday afternoons for pleasures beyond the campus gates, and Cloud knew he’d have the place practically to himself with no one to judge his perhaps strange little habits. Maybe he’d even get out to the nearby junkyard and exhume new parts for both his own project and the advanced students’.</p><p>Breathing heavily, Cloud returned to the woodshed to hang up the axe and smirked at the piles of what appeared to be scrap metal spread out over the floor like autumn leaves. It was almost enough. </p><p>He could hardly wait. </p><p>After filling his water bottle from the sink and grabbing a clean rag, Cloud wandered over to the saplings’ side and poured half over the back of his head, allowing the excess dribbling down his arms to be absorbed by the earth; a poor man’s shower to deal with the worst of the stickiness before replacing his shirt. </p><p>He had just started rubbing the rag over his neck, massaging out a few kinks, when he happened to glance up toward the school. </p><p>Tifa was on her terrace again, this time with a steaming mug of tea. She wore a fitted grey pencil skirt and white blouse buttoned up all the way to the throat where her gold halo was pinned, hair in a knot at the base of her head, presumably fresh out of temple service. It was the same chic yet modest monochrome he had glimpsed her wearing all week, having nixed mini-skirts or anything that had a chance of accidentally revealing a bra strap, red or any other color. If he hadn’t been, perhaps unconsciously, looking out for her, she would have been camouflaged against the backdrop of the building’s stone. Especially because she appeared to be frozen, as still as any gargoyle, barely blinking as she stared at his modest little woodshed clearing. Or, more specifically, stared at <em> him </em> standing in said little clearing <em> .  </em></p><p>Cloud swallowed thickly. Then, unsure of what else to do, he waved the white cloth above his head in awkward acknowledgement.  </p><p>Tifa jumped, yanked out of her trance with such force that the tea sloshed out of her mug, all over her hand and front of her blouse. Swearing loudly enough that it echoed across the field, she pulled the stained, burning material away from her chest and hastily scampered back to her office. </p><p>Alone again, Cloud could not restrain the crooked grin tugging at his lips even while hoping she hadn’t hurt herself too badly. He supposed his body too had changed over the years, especially thanks to months of swinging the axe and those long jogs to the junkyard, dragging a hundred pounds of metal back to campus several times a week. One could only imagine her surprise in comparison to the lanky teenage frame she had once been familiar with. </p><p>It all served to prove that regardless of age or income or living situation, in many ways the two of them - nay, <em> everyone </em>- would always be the same stupid kids.</p><hr/><p><b>**Author’s Note**:</b> I would like to dedicate this chapter to @Perlmuttt who made such a glorious fanart of this story that it encouraged me to post chapter three ASAP. The slow roast continues, but I hope the mysteries are still as intriguing. As always, I am forever appreciative of readers’ constructive criticism, concerns or screams of frustration in comment/review form. Many thanks for reading!  Also happy to chat on Twitter @AmeMayonaka.   </p><p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Foreign Languages</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b> <em>ADVISORY</em> </b>: chapter contains underage adult situations (17/18).  </p><p>
  <em> “Focuses on the past and present tenses. Classrooms are highly communicative and use techniques such as role-play conversations and games to support lesson content.” </em>
</p><p>[ : <b>The Curriculum</b> : ]</p><p>Chapter 4 | Foreign Languages</p><p>June 0004</p><p>
  <em> Nibelheim </em>
</p><p>The summer Cloud turned eighteen was a whirlwind. Not with the typical parties, studying and bright-eyed, eager planning for the future. No. That summer, the quiet boy - now man, in theory, he supposed - was consumed by the past. </p><p>Kicking a crushed soda can off the water tower, Cloud plopped himself down, alone, on the edge of the platform and took a hearty sip from a flask of unidentified amber liquor that his mother of all people had supplied him with. </p><p><em> ‘A Graduate’s Dance is a once in a lifetime event!’ </em>she had insisted, straightening the collar of a cerulean dress shirt purchased for the occasion, adamant that it brought out the unique coloring of his eyes and was sure to make all the girls swoon. Matched with a rented navy suit, burgundy tie and boutonniere made from their garden’s butter-colored lilies, he still felt very much like a kid wearing the costume of a grown-up. The effect was unaided by loafers she had purposefully bought a size too big. </p><p>After slipping the silver canister into his pocket, she had winked. Like it was some sort of bribe. <em> ‘Live a little. Have fun! Or else.’ </em></p><p>The threat was meant to be in jest but he was cognizant enough to read between the lines. </p><p>Have fun, or else she’d feel like she failed as a single parent all these years. </p><p>Have fun, or else she’d get even more depressed about his impending departure. </p><p>Have fun. BE NORMAL, for the love of the Gods, or else…</p><p>He’d be breaking her heart.</p><p>Cloud took another hearty gulp and winced as it went down, glaring at the sparkling lights of the gymnasium across the field where his classmates celebrated their impending entry to adulthood via redundant pop medleys, overly sweetened punch and hasty, fumbling encounters in bathroom stalls.</p><p>How he disliked them all. </p><p>It wasn’t that he was jealous. More apathetic with a hint of confusion. For years now he had been trying to pinpoint the exact wires in his brain that had been crossed which rendered a new brake pad delivery more exciting than graduating high school and all the related hoopla, but had yet to detect the fault. At least at Midgar U he would be surrounded by like-minded people in the highly competitive engineering program. Not as friends. He didn’t care for or desire the distraction of friends. He merely craved understanding. For someone to see him tinkering with a rusted-out, antique scooter, disassembling and reassembling it relentlessly, with no real goal in mind except to discover, and think <em> ‘I get it’ </em> instead of <em> ‘what a freak’ </em>.</p><p>Soon. </p><p>Whipping out a Car &amp; Driver magazine from the inside pocket of his blazer, Cloud leaned against the water tower barrel and prepared to wait out the clock. Another hour plus half the flask would be sufficient to prove he had given it the ol’ college try. All in all, considering no one was trying to shove his head in a toilet, the stage was set to be a relatively pleasant evening. He was midway through an article on innovative materia-based combustion systems, touring the borderlands of drunk, when a sound drew his attention. </p><p>It was a girl. </p><p>A <em> crying </em> girl. </p><p>One whose hiccups and sputters grew louder by the second up until he heard a distinct clicking of heels climbing up the steel ladder. </p><p>Panic bloomed in his chest, desperately scanning his surroundings for an alternate escape route. This water tower had been abandoned and deemed hazardous years prior, after the town had proper underground plumbing installed. Most kids avoided the area because it was too public to do anything truly nefarious and access involved battling a barbed wire fence and inevitable splinters. Cloud mostly liked it for the view of the entire village along a backdrop of white-tipped mountains and the infinite stars, paired with a (usually) low probability of being harassed. </p><p>Glancing down the three-story drop, he debated how many broken bones his social anxiety was willing to claim, when the girl in question rounded the bend and plopped down without any notice or care. She wore a silky, deep purple halter dress with matching shoes, a black ribbon slashed across her throat, hair a dark, gleaming curtain that draped all the way down to her waist, highlighting the shape of her bare back as it wracked with sobs.  </p><p>Cloud gulped upon recognizing both the form and the outfit. It was the only dress he had taken note of that night, for it was being worn by <em> her. </em></p><p>Tifa Lockhart.</p><p>Involuntarily, he thought back to a couple of years ago when his mom had sat him down for a “special talk”, concerned because he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in girls<em> . </em>Not even of the magazine-hidden-under-the-bed variety. </p><p>It was true. He didn’t care about <em> girl(s) </em>, plural. </p><p>Just one. This very same one. </p><p>Something about her presence, even when scolding him for lack of participation, was like a minuscule, missing gear in the engine of his mind. She made everything click into place, converting him into a smooth-running machine capable of typical teenage sentiment if only temporarily. Then she’d always move on to other priorities, other people, and all would tumble into mangled junk once more. How he was both terrified by and craved those moments.  </p><p>Though a year younger, Cloud knew she had been invited to the Graduate’s Dance as someone else’s date; one of the typical good-looking, well-spoken jocks that he worked hard not to learn anything more about than strictly necessary. His instinct was to play ignorant, to sneak around the other side and down the ladder with her being none the wiser, but ignoring Tifa proved to be impossible. Always had been. </p><p>“Heya,” he started oh-so-lamely, wincing at the strange pitch in his voice and clearing his throat to reset it. “You okay?”</p><p>The sobbing cut off as she gasped, clearly mortified while struggling to focus on his face. “Cloud Strife? Is-Is that you?”</p><p>A thrill shot through him that she remembered his full name, considering how typical it was for him to blend into the wallpaper and they’d probably exchanged fewer than ten sentences over the same number of years. Logic urged him not to read too much into it. Tifa was a highly decorated student council member. She probably had the entire village’s names memorized. </p><p>“Umm. Do you need...” At a loss for what else to do, Cloud dug into his pocket for the pack of tissues he always had on hand due to frequent nosebleeds; yet another example of how nature slotted him from birth into the pathetic loser category. </p><p>“Thanks.” Accepting one, she pressed it to her reddened nose and shamelessly blew. The sound, much like that of a throttled goose, made his stomach balloon with affection. So she <em> was </em>human. This revelation infused him with such a rare but acute bout of confidence that he dared to shuffle a few inches closer. </p><p>“Do you...want to talk about it?”</p><p>Tifa shook her head between sniffles. “No. Maybe? I suppose the summary of events is that my boyfriend’s an asshole.”</p><p>“Oh. I could have told you that a long time ago,” Cloud quipped with his chest puffed out. Then, after being flashed a disapproving glare, he shrank back. “Sorry.”</p><p>“No, you’re right. I forgot that you tend to be more blunt than most people.” She smirked as she said this, which he could not resist mirroring. “I could use some more bluntness in my life, I think.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Swallowing, he glanced around the empty field and glowing blanket of stars before them. Even he could tell that this was as romantic as a setting could get and wondered why the much-desired girl sought comfort in such a location alone. “Anyway, I’m listening. If you want. It’s not like I have anything better to do, so…”</p><p>“You sure know how to make a girl feel special, huh Strife?”</p><p>“Sorry. I didn’t mean-”</p><p>“Stop saying sorry!” She commanded, fixing him with those intense carmine eyes that never failed to ignite his veins. “Apologies mean nothing without action. They’re just stupid, empty words! Two sips of bathtub moonshine and then he’s up on stage, in front of <em> everyone, </em> making out with another girl and I’m supposed to forget because he’s <em> sorry </em>!? Ha!” </p><p>“Whoa. Shit.” Apparently, he had missed the scandal of the event - <em> nay - </em> the year. Though that wasn’t the part that shocked him. “He really is an asshole. <em> And </em>an idiot.” </p><p>If <em> he </em>were with a girl like Tifa, then…</p><p>Shaking his head to rid himself of the notion, Cloud tried to diagnose her state of mind from her posture, eager for a glimpse under the hood. She was staring at the sky with tears trailing down her cheeks, gripping the edge of the platform, clearly more frustrated than anything. On top of it all, she was shivering, the material of her wispy dress doing nothing to shield against Nibelheim’s brisk twilight.</p><p>“Here.” Not even thinking twice about it, Cloud stripped off his navy blazer and held it out in offering. </p><p>“You really don’t have to-”</p><p>“Please.” He dared to lean a little closer. Close enough that he could smell a hint of spiced-satsuma on her skin. “It’s fine. I’m too warm anyway.”</p><p> “Oh. Okay then. Thank you.” </p><p>As she draped the jacket over her shoulders, Cloud was surprised to find her lithe form practically engulfed by the thing. His mom often complained that he was growing too fast lately but this was the first real evidence he had noticed. If that wasn’t enough to boost his ego, something about seeing Tifa wearing his clothes made him feel especially...valiant. Enough so that he bent one knee, planting a foot on the edge of the platform and leaned upon it in a way he hoped appeared suavely nonchalant. </p><p>“If you don’t mind me saying,” he began, inspired to initiate conversation for what was probably only the second time in his life. “You seem more embarrassed than hurt.” </p><p>Tifa glanced over with brows furrowed, wrapping the blazer more tightly around herself. “So?” </p><p>“Soooo did you really love the guy then? If you’re more worried about what people are thinking than sad about it being over, isn’t that not a great sign?” </p><p>Steamrolled by epiphany, her forehead smoothed as she stared at him, dark eyes wide and doe-like, threatening to drown him in their depths. “I guess not.” Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Tifa also dared to shuffle a little closer. Close enough that their thighs brushed, triggering a shockwave down his leg that made his toes curl inside his shoes.  “I suppose I’m mostly upset because I expected tonight to be special. You know?” </p><p>He really didn’t. </p><p>“Then make it special,” Cloud asserted, grabbing a nearby pebble and whipping it toward the unseen ground below. “You don’t need him. Honestly, the guy’s IQ rivals his shoe size.” </p><p>Tifa chuckled heartily. As if it were the first time she had genuinely laughed in years. “You’re pretty funny, Cloud.” </p><p>That was the last adjective anyone would usually attribute to him, but he decided to absorb any compliments he could. Glancing down at her, he noticed the yellow boutonniere pinned to the jacket pocket was already half-wilted; a grim reminder that this moment, including any fragments of youth and optimism, would not last forever. </p><p>Their eyes met and he swore, for a fraction of a second, some sort of spark flash between them. Like a lighthouse in an endless storm of inky blackness. Drawing him in. Beckoning him.  </p><p>But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. After all, he was only-</p><p>Before he could finish the thought, it happened. </p><p>Tifa Lockhart grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, yanked him sideways and mashed her lips onto his in a kiss that bordered on violent. </p><p>A much-too-slow heartbeat later, he found himself kissing her back. Because what red-blooded, straight teenage male <em> wouldn’t?  </em></p><p>Kissing Tifa - or, he supposed, technically he was ‘making out’ with Tifa - proved to be elementary, despite never having participated in such activity. Probably thanks to the hundreds of hours he had spent imagining it. He knew to thread his fingers into the back of her hair because he had always wanted to. He bit the plush pillow of her bottom lip because he had seen her do it so often when concentrating and it never failed to make him sweat. She retaliated via a tongue slipping past his teeth and, though unexpected, it felt good, infusing him with heat. </p><p>This was a fantasy come to life, heavy and warm in his hands like newly soldered metal. When she swung one leg over his hips and pressed their upper bodies together, he was barely surprised, for she must have been reading his mind.</p><p>It took a full two - or was it five? Ten maybe? - minutes before reality reared its ugly head and all that heat started to burn. They were close. Too close. Certain parts of her were shifting against certain parts of him and it was too much. He pulled away, the sudden lack like ripping off a limb. </p><p>“<em> Gods </em>. Sorry. Sorry for saying sorry!” The machine of his mind was melting down upon seeing her flushed cheeks paired with tousled hair and smeared lipstick. </p><p>Mayday. </p><p>S.O.S.. </p><p>Holy <em> fuck, </em> was she beautiful.  </p><p>Closing his eyes, Cloud tried to lean away, hands grasping her hips to ensure she didn’t get too close and discover his shameful reaction. “I didn’t- We shouldn’t-” </p><p>“You’re nice, Cloud,” she interrupted with a strangely innocent smile considering their positions. After brushing a few wayward blonde locks out of his eyes, her nails raked over his scalp before settling on the leather band that held his hair back. “And cute. Your eyes. They’re so...” She trailed off in a sigh, toying with the buttons of his cerulean dress shirt, unable to invoke a suitable adjective.</p><p>“Thank you?” Cloud responded through a staggered breath. Guess he owed Mom an apology. </p><p>“Do you remember when I was pushed off the playground swing in second grade?” she inquired, summoning a memory so old and dusty it belonged in a museum. “You stood up to three way bigger kids to defend me. I never forgot that. Even though it ended with your face shoved into the mud.” </p><p>“I, uhh- I remember. They were jerks.” Automatically, he sat up straighter, as if to remind them both that he wasn’t so small anymore. “It was worth it.” </p><p>He would have done much more, back then, had he the strength. Tifa inspired that sort of daring. </p><p>“Hmm. My hero,” she murmured into his skin. </p><p>Those were the exact words necessary to ensure a complete and thorough seduction of one Cloud Strife.</p><p> When she kissed him again it was more fierce, more deep than before. When she leaned closer and his jacket fell from her shoulders, their bodies swaying and melding, seeking any sort of friction, he let her. Before he knew it, she was reaching behind her neck for the tie of her halter. </p><p>After the straps and top fluttered down, he was faced with a strapless red bra and the edge of matching panties. It was the first live underwear he’d ever seen and it was on Tifa Lockhart of all people, generously proportioned even at her age. The sight alone was nearly enough to make him explode right there in his pants. </p><p>“R-red?” he stuttered pathetically. </p><p>“Umm, yeah. Seems like we’re a match! Heh. Red is for good luck, you know? ” she giggled while gently tugging on his burgundy tie. Her grin was sinful, breath erratic, hooded ruby eyes pulling him in deeper like a mythical siren. She seemed to be debating something. Then, with a nod of her chin, she seemed to have decided. “Speaking of...getting <em> lucky </em>…?” </p><p>He had no idea where she had stored the foil packet being offered and it took him a mortifyingly long time to recognize what it was and all it implied. Tifa Lockhart, true to her mountain-scout roots, was prepared for <em> everything </em>. </p><p>Before he could even begin to process the silent request, she was kissing him again, pressing into him again, and Cloud felt like a man wandering a desert his entire life had stumbled upon water at long last. He couldn’t stop himself from greedily drinking it all in, nor could he stop her it seemed, even if he wanted to. </p><p>In her haste to get his shirt open, Tifa ripped off most of the buttons which scattered and fell between wooden planks. All except the topmost one which had been saved by his tie. “Sorry,” she mumbled against his mouth, chilly palms sliding up over his pectorals. </p><p>“It’s...<em> Umph </em>. Fine. D-Don’t worry about it.” </p><p>Funny how just a few minutes ago, he thought getting away from this town and everything it encompassed would make him a real man. That ridiculous concept would forever be categorized in the other segment of his life. BKT: Before Kissing Tifa. </p><p>“Can I-” Four fingers began delicately tracing up his thigh. Cloud nearly swallowed his tongue in a gulp, needing her hands on him like he needed oxygen.</p><p>Regardless, like the idiot scaredy-cat virgin he was, he felt compelled to remind her. Just in case she forgot. “You, umm...You don’t really know me? How...I don’t get why-”</p><p>“I know you, Cloud Strife.” Beneath her fiery gaze, it felt as though he were being judged by the all-mighty Goddess herself; heat melting all doubts like a candle facing a flamethrower. “I know you’re gentle and discreet and brave. I just <em>want </em>you. Help me make this night special. Promise me you’ll help?” Her forehead leaned against his and hands slithered to either side of his neck, clawing desperately at his skin, hips already undulating against his thigh. “You and me. No one else has to know. Promise? <em>Please?</em>” </p><p>Holy. </p><p>Of all the potential incidents this evening could have included, Tifa Lockhart begging him to be inside her was not on even the most fantastical, optimistic of lists. There was no other answer to give. He was officially besotted. “Alright. I promise.”</p><p>It did occur to him, briefly, that Fate had never been so kind to the Strifes. </p><p>He knew that if he went forward, if he <em> stole </em> this experience, then destiny would re-balance the scales somewhere down the line. Regardless, as the vast majority of blood pooled around his groin, all tendencies for rational thought short-circuited like a toaster dropped into a bath.</p><p>He didn’t care that he and Tifa were mere acquaintances whose most frequent communication involved butting heads over silly rules. Any potential consequences of them doing this while exposed to frigid temperatures and countless lit windows were similarly tossed to the wind. It didn’t matter that she was an idol, the most gorgeous, kind, intelligent girl in the whole village, let alone school, while his reputation was closer to that of a rusted old buggy. In essence, an expired piece of trash. He had always known, or at least hoped, some gleaming potential existed beneath the surface with a little polish and attention. <em> Her </em>attention.  </p><p>“<em> Cloud </em>,” she whispered his name huskily, grinding against him, revealing a whole new level to the heavens. “Touch me.” </p><p>He didn’t hesitate. With trembling hands, Cloud reached up and traced the swell of her cleavage until Tifa grew impatient and directed his hand to the bra cup. Soon he was shimmying fingers under the red, silky fabric, palming her bare breast, and she was murmuring to not be afraid to pinch the peaks. She said she liked it when he pinched. </p><p>He did. </p><p>He did everything she told him to and more. </p><p>Once he got the hang of it, she initiated her own venture by palming the front of his increasingly tight suit pants, evaporating any concept he had of denying her for honor’s sake. To perhaps only give and not recieve. In a moment of clarity, as her lips slid down his neck, it grossed him out to think of how many other guys may have gotten off wearing these rented slacks and it gave him extra incentive to unbuckle the belt and kick them off as though they were on fire, causing one of his too large shoes to fall off the platform edge. </p><p>Not that he cared. </p><p>He vowed to never forget her softness under his lips and fingers. And he didn’t. Never ever ever. In what seemed like a blink, after dutifully rolling on the condom when instructed, he sunk inside of her with astonishing ease. It was as if they had been made to fit together; a bolt with its matching nut. She began rocking in his lap and he knew within ten seconds that he wouldn’t - couldn’t - last very long. She felt so good he was fighting back tears and struggling to summon each breath, believing that if he died at that very moment, he’d consider his life fulfilled. </p><p>Nevertheless, he still tried so very hard to please her. As humiliating as “the talk” with his mom had been and the subsequent book she had encouraged him to read, a few tips did come in handy. He knew to keep slow, dictating the rhythm of her hips with his hands when she tried to speed up, so as not to get overwhelmed and ensure her comfort, to follow the cues of her involuntary expletives to know where to concentrate his touch. </p><p>A few heavenly minutes later, after she had sunk her teeth into his shoulder to the point of drawing blood, he attempted to touch base and ensure it was a happy attack. When he leaned back she simply followed, refusing to look at his face which, even in the throes of ecstasy with the girl of his dreams, summoned a familiar swell of distress.</p><p>“H-Heyy,” he stuttered into her ear, pressing a hand firmly on her lower back to tamper her writhing. “You okay?”</p><p>She nodded against his shoulder, fighting the restraint, but that wasn’t enough to quell the confusion which threatened to ruin everything.</p><p>“Please, Tifa…Talk to me. I need-” </p><p>“I’m...<em> good </em>, Cloud. I’m-” She cut off with a gasp and shudder and only then did he realize she wasn’t hiding from him. </p><p>She was <em> preoccupied </em>. </p><p>“Please don’t- don’t stop.”</p><p>He didn’t need to be told again. The very notion of her enjoying this to the point where sentences disintegrated made everything so much more intense somehow. He could feel her tightening and it almost made him lose it. But not yet. Please, Goddess, not yet!</p><p>One arm curled around her back, bracing her against his chest as he lifted and rolled her over, wrangling the lead. She gasped when her head fell back against the wood, possibly about to protest the switch, but then his thrusts increased in both pace and depth. Any objections tumbled somewhere between the boards, consumed by shadows. </p><p>“Yes,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear, hands threading into his hair and pulling to the point of pain. “This- this is <em> better </em>. Just. Like-” His other hand dove between their bodies, thumb tapping on that spot he remembered from a female anatomy diagram and she again lost grip on words, eyelids pinched shut and back arched. Fully concentrated. So deliciously close. </p><p>Gods, did he want it to happen. He wanted it to happen more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. More than he’d wanted to get accepted into Midgar U. More than he wanted to get out of this forsaken town. He wanted Tifa Lockhart to come for him. </p><p>She did. </p><p>At least, he assumed she did. He supposed a guy could never truly be certain. </p><p>She did shake and curse and clench. All the signs were there, and the very notion that he made her forfeit her renowned control was more of a turn-on than the sensation of her tight, wet walls fluttering along his length. </p><p>A few more fevered thrusts and he erupted seconds after. The sensation was euphoria; a tsunami of physical and emotional release after years of being ostracised and not believing he was good enough to deserve such an experience, especially with her. He buried his face into her clavicle and fought off a humiliating burn beneath his eyelids, which he won. Barely. </p><p>Just like that, it was over. </p><p>Both breathing as though through a straw, he slid away to fall flat beside her on the wood platform. While he stripped off and discarded the latex evidence in one of his pocket tissues, she straightened her dress and re-tied the halter ribbons. </p><p>Sitting up in tandem, their eyes met again, both wide with disbelief that that had truly just happened. Then, simultaneously, they both erupted into breathy chuckles. </p><p>“Wow,” was all Cloud could think to say, wiping away a line of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “That was...<em> wow </em>. Right?”</p><p>“Yeah. <em> Wow </em>indeed. I never thought-” Another giggle escaped while she gathered her disheveled hair over one shoulder to comb her fingers through, eyes diverting to fix upon the jewel toned sky. “I’ll, umm- I’ll never forget this.”</p><p>“Me neither.” Unable to tame the moronic, satisfied grin blooming on his mouth, he pulled on his pants. A mere minute had passed since they finished and the world already appeared painted in different colors, brighter and more saturated than before, though still a little blurry due to the lack of glasses he refused to wear in public. There was, however, one dark shadow looming on the horizon, threatening to render his world black and white once more. </p><p>They sat in silence for another couple of minutes, adjusting clothing, wiping away fluids, as gradually the post-orgasmic haze grew tepid and somewhat bittersweet. Like a cup of green tea left steeping too long. </p><p>“I’m supposed to move to Midgar this summer,” he announced quietly, buckling his belt and feeling like it was extra tight, roping him to this tower.  </p><p>“I know,” Tifa acknowledged, fiddling with the ribbon at her throat. </p><p>“But.” He stared down at the ground again, considering his calculations from earlier. How many broken bones were worth securing his solitude? How many broken dreams were worth <em> not </em> ? “Maybe we can try...I don’t <em> have </em>to-”</p><p>“It’s getting late,” she interrupted brusquely, jumping to her feet and brushing bits of sawdust from her dress. Cloud glanced up in an attempt to meet her eyes again, knowing it would ease the tension, but hers were still firmly glued to the sky. “I should get back.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay.”</p><p>It was indeed getting later and colder by the second. He was extra aware of this as Tifa handed him back his blazer with shaking hands. “Goodnight Cloud.”</p><p>She was climbing down the tower ladder before he even had a chance to jump start the famously logical side of his brain. </p><p>Pros and cons. </p><p>Benefits versus consequences. </p><p>The exact probability of true happiness.</p><p>For a long while after her departure, Cloud sat there in his buttonless dress shirt and single shoe, staring into the sky’s abyss and feeling overwhelmingly...empty. Only the cacophony of other students coming to explore the field forced him to snap out of it, grab his discarded magazine and flask and head for more solid ground. </p><p>He definitely wouldn’t tell anyone about this. </p><p>He had promised. </p><p>Besides, not only was he leaving for college in a few weeks but, seriously, who in this town would ever believe it? </p><p>Only upon arriving home did he notice that his lily boutonniere had ripped off, leaving a gaping hole on the breast of his rented suit jacket. </p><hr/><p>January | Present Day</p><p>
  <em> Midgar </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Cloud awoke gasping. </p><p>It wasn’t exactly a new occurrence, considering his body’s refusal to acclimatize to the heat plus all its other failings, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. </p><p>This was different though. As he struggled to draw oxygen into his overwhelmed lung and his legs shifted beneath the sheets, he became aware of a strange, excess stickiness between his skin and the fabric of his shorts.</p><p>No way. It wasn’t possible. </p><p>Lifting the sheets timidly, half expecting a monster to emerge from beneath, Cloud confirmed the issue and fell back against the mattress with a groan, palms pressed into his eye sockets. </p><p>How ridiculous. </p><p>He hadn’t known nocturnal emissions were possible for a man his age, as they certainly hadn’t been a concern since he was a teen. A fluke, he decided as he ripped off the stained bedding and headed to the shower. Perhaps an unlisted side effect. </p><p>Certainly, it had nothing to do with him having fallen asleep while revisiting the memory of the Graduate’s Dance.    </p><p>Roughly scrubbing the residue from his thighs as if it were an embedded stain, Cloud shifted focus onto work. It was midway through the second week of term and he had a lecture period with the Sophomores to continue training them in safety basics, including using the bandsaw. This would be a test of sorts, to determine if any were as eager to move onto metal and engines as his current band of Junior/Senior misfits, and perhaps apply to take his advanced course the following semester. </p><p>At the thought of next year, Cloud froze under the spray. He hadn’t yet written one word of that syllabus Headmistress Lockhart had insisted he yank out of his ass. It was difficult to summon the required enthusiasm when a) it was unnecessary to his teaching and b) blatantly pointless as she had already labelled Industrial Arts a dead-class-walking. Still, the threat of cutting his benefits was a legitimate concern and he knew he’d have to cough the thing up eventually. </p><p>Whatever. He had another couple of weeks until spring break to figure it out and today he wasn’t in the mood to think about it. Or her. </p><p>Dressing in a cobalt button-down, grey slacks and usual thin black tie, Cloud scanned the various surfaces for his glasses. His need for them was a reminder that it had been a while since he had disturbed the collection of vials hidden in his desk, which he supposed was a good sign. That being said, if another spell hit, it would very much suck to be without stock and the stuff tended to expire quickly. Stepping to the desk, he noticed his glasses half hidden beneath a pile of papers and hastily shoved the thick, black frames onto his face prior to diving in. The drawer was a mess of course, littered with receipts, crumpled sketches, dried up pens, yellowing letters and…</p><p>
  <em> Letters… </em>
</p><p>Quest abandoned, Cloud’s fingers hovered over the pile tied with red twine before gingerly lifting it from it’s tomb, flicking away a curl of pencil shavings. He had moved onto campus with a single duffle bag of possessions, having recycled or sold most personal effects as it made more financial sense than paying for storage or movers. Only the most essential clothing, toiletries and a few reference books made the cut. Plus these letters. This stupid pile of <em> reminders </em>. </p><p>The topmost one still inspired a cocky, crooked grin whenever he saw it. It was his scholarship acceptance to Midgar U. Proof that his social disinterest and strange hobbies could be worth something in the future. There were three others in the pile that he didn’t have the time or desire to revisit, so he tossed them back, shoved the drawer closed with his hip and grabbed his satchel off the chairback. </p><p>Emotional baggage inventory could wait. </p><p>When the windows of the west wing hallway flooded with orange light, Cloud was already sitting at the bandsaw of his workshop. He was in the midst of calculating exactly how many boards were necessary per student when pitched voices yanked his attention elsewhere. </p><p>Encountering anyone on campus at this early hour was strange enough, but especially around this low-traffic corner of the building. That they were loud enough to be heard above a power tool implied that, as a staff member, he had no choice but to intervene.</p><p>Groaning, Cloud stopped the blade, yanked off his safety goggles and gloves with every intention of telling the young lovers to battle elsewhere, when the perpetrators rounded the bend and entered the glass-walled hallway. </p><p>It was Aerith. </p><p>Aerith, who he labelled the personification of spring, wearing a peach floral sundress and cardigan, was stomping across the tile with absolute fury marring her features, turning back long enough to throw two middle fingers in the air. A few feet behind her appeared a man with hair as long and dark as Tifa’s, dressed in a sleek black suit and earpiece, jogging to keep up. The medic was halfway down the hall when he caught her elbow and yanked, forcing her to stop in her tracks and nearly lose her balance while another suited man, bald this time, raced over to join the attack, muttering into his earpiece.</p><p>Cloud moved so fast that he toppled over several stools. </p><p>“Hey!” Kicking open the workshop door, he stalked up to the trio with clenched fists and gritted teeth. “Get away from her!”</p><p>“Cloud?” Aerith twisted free and took a step away from the long-haired guy, fearfully glancing between them all. “Wha-What are you doing here so early?”</p><p>“Apparently teaching some manners.” Whipping his PHS out of his pocket he began dialing, not allowing his gaze to wander away from the group for more than half a second at a time. “I’m calling security.”</p><p>“Cloud. Don’t.” She closed the gap between them and snapped the device shut before he got three numbers in. “That isn’t necessary. This is Tseng and Rude.” She introduced them cordially, like they were all old friends or something. Both the suits offered shallow bows to which Cloud only glowered in response. “They were only asking me a few questions. You can leave us.”</p><p>  “But he-” Cloud gestured to the skin of her forearm which still bore red finger markings. “No. No way am I leaving you alone with these guys.” </p><p>“I’m fineeeee.” Her tone was determined with a peppering of annoyance, which was a strange shade for her to wear. Like a sheep in a leather jacket. “Now go.”</p><p>“Aerith. You seriously can’t expect me to just-”</p><p>“This is <em> none of your business </em>, Mr. Strife.”</p><p>Damn, was she good at knowing exactly which thread to pull to unravel his defenses. The words he often used to escape conversation were dished out in his face and, he had to admit, being on the receiving end proved to not be very pleasant. Especially because, if there was to be any chance of hanging out with Zack ever again, he knew he had to respect her wishes. </p><p>“Fine.” Glaring at the black-suited men in silent warning, he strode passed and towards the atrium. As soon as he turned the corner however, he broke into a run. </p><p>If Aerith didn’t want <em> him </em> butting in, perhaps her soon-to-be-fiancé had a shot. </p><hr/><p>“Heya buddy!” Zack greeted from over his breakfast plate as Cloud, out of breath and sweating, skidded over to their usual, wonky-legged staff room table. </p><p>“Aerith,” he panted, gesturing frantically toward the west wing which was oh-so-stupidly far away. “Couple of guys in black suits...<em> chasing </em> her. She said she was fine, but-”  </p><p>“Yeah, I know.” Zack interrupted through a sloppy, butter shined grin. “Tseng and Rude, right? She can handle them.”</p><p>“You <em> know </em>?” Cloud repeated, flabbergasted. </p><p>“Course I do. They’re private Shinra security. Chairman Rufus sends in his goons every once in a while as a reminder.”</p><p>“A reminder? Of what?”</p><p>“That he holds the cards, he calls the shots, we’re mere puppets at his command. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Can you pass the salt?”</p><p>Dropping into the nearest chair, Cloud attempted to get a grip on such a loose stew of revelations while obediently handing over the shaker. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why are they bothering her of all people? What makes Aerith so-” </p><p>Zack merely raised an eyebrow between bites, displaying a rare reluctance to elaborate. It didn’t take Cloud long to put two and two together, as they had already, frequently discussed Aerith’s true superpower in this place.</p><p>As the school medic, Ms. Gainsborough was exposed to the student body’s ugliest sides. Kids from the most prominent, wealthy families on the continent, if not the world, bled and wept and had their genital warts diagnosed in her med bay. Of course such intel was of especially high value to some. </p><p>Thankfully the law was on her side, Aerith always having been a champion of patient confidentiality and frequently reminded the students of such. With their secrets, she was an impenetrable steel trap. That didn’t mean someone like Shinra wouldn’t stoop to fighting dirty, using the sharpest and meanest of tools to get in, if deemed necessary.</p><p>“We should at least check on her,” Cloud insisted, moving to get up.</p><p>“No, we shouldn’t,” Zack grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him down into the chair again. “She said she was fine. I said she was fine. Let it go, man.” </p><p>“What the- Don’t you, supposedly, <em> love </em>this girl? How can you just sit there and-” </p><p>“Hey!” Slamming his fist onto the table, Zack sat up straight, letting Cloud know damn well that he had crossed a line. Again. “Not everyone who says they’re fine is <b> <em>lying </em> </b>about it!” </p><p>An eye for an eye, Cloud immediately went rigid, like one of those goats who fell paralyzed after a scare. Zack was still staring daggers at him but it wasn’t complete fury. A notable portion, around fifteen percent at least, was pity. It was the fifteen percent that had Cloud wrestling an urge to vomit.  </p><p>His fingers on his lap started to tremble so he hid them beneath his thighs, but then they started to shake too. For the first time, Zack didn’t pretend not to notice. He took his time glancing down, focusing on the tremors, and then up again with a watery-eyed, sad little smile. By that point, it was more like ten percent anger, ten percent frustration and eighty percent pity. Whatever ratio, it was more than Cloud could handle. </p><p>“I gotta go,” the younger man announced, jumping to his feet. </p><p>Zack nodded solemnly. “I know.”</p><p>Stalking out of the staff room, Cloud had barely made it out the door and into the back hallway before it hit. </p><p>The sensation was so akin to a jackhammer upon his skull that both hands gripped his hair and pulled, trying to extract invisible needles. It was so bad that for a few seconds, he seriously thought this may be the end. His brain was about to leak out of his ears and drip onto the marble flooring. His vials were too far away at the residence, buried under piles of twine-wrapped memories, punishing him for daring to forget...for believing he could get by a few days without them.  </p><p>No.</p><p>Today was not gonna be the day he succumbed. Later, fine, but <em> not </em> here, not now.  </p><p>With his forehead pressed into a bulletin board so firmly that it left an impression in the cork, Cloud took deep breaths until it boiled over, hitting an ear-splitting climax that made him whimper out loud, before finally dissolving and slithering away like butter on a hot skillet. </p><p>When the finale was deemed complete and he dared open his eyes, the first thing he noticed out of his peripheral version was Doctor Hojo at the end of the hallway. The man’s arms were crossed over his chest, observing the scene with a curious and slimy grin.</p><p>Cloud ignored him. There was no other choice. </p><p>Adjusting his glasses that had titled in the onslaught, he merely spun on his heels and headed in the opposite direction, conveniently towards his woodshed. He didn’t have class till late afternoon and he swore he didn’t need those vials. </p><p>He was <em> fine </em>. </p><hr/><p>Cloud had been chopping wood for forty minutes straight when he paused to catch his breath. By that point in the semester, it was instinct for him to glance up at the Headmistress’ terrace every once in a while, though she seemed to frequent it less and less as her various documents, events and renovation projects picked up steam.  </p><p>Today however, he was lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how one interpreted things.</p><p>Tifa was seated at a new wrought-iron bistro set that was, oddly, positioned closer to the west corner of the terrace with the clearest view to and from his shed. Not that he dared read too much into its placement. There was a steaming mug of green tea set on the table surface and a notebook on her lap in which she was frantically scribbling. However, as if sensing his eyes upon her, she glanced up from her work soon after he did.</p><p>Their stare held for a few, agonizing seconds. Unsure what else to do, he offered a small wave which, for unfathomable reasons, made her mouth twist into a frown. She then raised a finger in instruction to wait before slapping her notebook shut and heading towards her private back staircase. </p><p>And he had thought this morning couldn’t get any more dramatic.</p><p>A few minutes later, he heard shuffling footsteps among the trees, encouraging him to remove his glasses and rub a rag over his face to wipe off the worst of the sweat shine. It was pretty pointless, considering the rest of his exposed upper body was equally glossy and dirt- streaked, but he didn’t dare stop or redress yet. Not after what had almost happened outside the staff room in front of Doctor Hojo of all people. </p><p>Exercise was important. </p><p>“Good morning, Headmistress,” he hollered as she emerged from the shadows of the treeline. </p><p>“Morning, Mr. Strife,” she called back, tiptoeing over roots and rocks in her bare feet, heels pinched in one hand. The sight made him smile a little, amused that she kept some part of her country girl origins despite the wardrobe upgrades. Currently, she wore a beige, high-waisted wrap-skirt cinched by a black belt, paired with a tucked-in, white, peasant blouse. Her ash-brown hair was gathered in a low but tight ponytail and the gold halo was, as always, pinned to her chest. </p><p>If the boring, flat colors and loose fabric were meant to be an attempt at conservativeness, she utterly failed again. Not that it was her fault. </p><p>Tifa could have worn a potato sack and she’d still be cursedly attractive.</p><p>It was still strange to compare this elegant woman to the girl from high school who was never out of a stretch tank-top and short-shorts (barring special occasions), always at the ready to swivel-kick someone in the jaw if necessary.</p><p>They were different people now, he had to remind himself. </p><p>So much had changed. </p><p>Arriving at the clearing, Tifa surveyed the area with her free hand on her hip. “So this is what you do during your free periods instead of writing your syllabus? Play out some Man of the Forest fantasy?”  </p><p>Her tone was more teasing than mocking, thus Cloud felt it appropriate to chuckle as he readied another log on the chopping block. “I’m gathering course materials,” he explained while raising his axe and swinging it down with all his might. Tifa jumped when the two halves flew in opposite directions. “Kinda hard to build a birdhouse or whatever with just glue, nails and imagination.” </p><p>“Build a birdhouse?” she cocked an eyebrow as he positioned a new log. “In my previous school, shop class provided kits of pre-cut boards. How are the students supposed to-” she trailed off, wrist rotating in circles. To his surprise, she seemed genuinely curious. </p><p>“How do you think the people who make the kits do it?” He gestured to the pile of splits. “They draw, they measure, they cut, sand, treat, varnish and paint. Honestly, those stupid kits take all the fun out of building something with your own two hands with only what nature provides.” </p><p>Another hit from his axe and it was her turn to laugh. “Did nature provide you with the axe, the saw, the measuring tape?” </p><p>“Ha.” Breathing a little heavily from the labor, he threw her a lopsided grin. “Touché, Headmistress. Is there a reason you’re here?” </p><p>“Yes, actually.” He expected her to gripe about his lack of detailed lesson plans again. However, something in her stance, more nervous than bossy, made him reconsider. The axe was dropped to prove his attention. Tifa, in solidarity, placed her heels down in the grass. </p><p>“I heard you had a run in with Shinra’s private security today,” she explained. Cloud instinctively tensed. </p><p>“Yeah. What of it?” </p><p>“Well,” she took a tentative step closer, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no eavesdropper. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” </p><p>“Really?”</p><p>The sarcasm must have been laid on a bit too thick for she immediately looked exasperated. “Of course, <em> really! </em> Rufus Shinra may be Chairman of the Board but, for all intents and purposes, this is <em> my </em> school. <em> I </em> was voted in by a majority of administrators, parents and alumnae based on nothing but hard work and-and reputation.” Bare feet sliding against the grass, she came even closer. Close enough that Cloud had to fight an urge to back away into the shed and barricade the doors. “No parent has the authority to direct strange thugs into the building to harass my staff or students. I told him that next time it happens, I’m not just calling security, I’m calling the independent police!” </p><p>Listening to her vent, he felt as inspired as he had been back in high school during her pep rally speeches. Though of course, exactly like high school, he didn’t dare show it.</p><p>“Bet Shinra loved hearing that,” he merely quipped, bending down to gather the newly split logs for the pile. </p><p>“Yeah, well, I’ve dealt with more entitled parents, believe it or not.” </p><p>“I don’t believe it.” </p><p>They shared a snigger at that.</p><p>As the tension eased for the first time since the semester began, Cloud was bombarded by a wave of guilt. He needed to address the elephant in the room. This time to pacify it rather than goad. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said, one foot mindlessly toeing the grass. Tifa remained silent, allowing him the space to expand on his own terms. “About what I said in your office last week? My comment about your...” He gestured to her shoulder that once displayed the fallen bra strap and she instinctively slapped a hand to her bicep even though she wore long sleeves. Gods, why was talking to her always akin to skating on paper-thin ice? “The red...thing. It wasn’t professional and I had no intention of-” </p><p>“All in the past, Mr. Strife,” she interrupted cordially. However, all the softness in her face and voice had vanished, a new, overly-tight smile screwed in place as though her jaw hung on hinges. Cloud finally understood why Yuffie so often claimed that she was a cyborg. That ability to switch gears and shut off emotion was downright uncanny. </p><p>“How about we make a deal?” Reaching down, she swiped her heels from the grass and shoved them back onto her feet. “You put just a little more effort into your written course outline than you did during your high school glory minute, and maybe, just maybe, I can get a satisfying performance out of you yet, hmm?” </p><p>With those extra five inches, she was eye to eye with him and seemed to have gained a similar level of arrogance. “And will you please put on a shirt? This is the esteemed Midgar Preparatory, not the Honeybee Inn.” </p><p>As she walked away, clearly a little unsteady as the spike of her shoes sank into the grass every couple of steps but trying her damndest not to show it, Cloud could only gape after her. Thoroughly and completely stunned. </p><p>He supposed the mystery of their first encounter was now solved. It shouldn’t have been surprising considering their ages and inexperience but he was starting to realize how much of his adult confidence hinged on the decade-old belief that she had enjoyed herself that night on the water tower.</p><p>Growling, he picked up the axe and slammed it into the chopping block, perfectly aware of acting like a testosterone-fueled idiot. That didn’t stop his punctured pride from deflating into a flaccid tire.  </p><p>Only after she climbed the back staircase, across the terrace and vanished into her office, did he turn towards the woodshed. Over the weekend and thanks to Rupert Shinra’s free-period detention assistance, he had got further than he thought he could with his project.</p><p>Ripping off the protective tarp, Cloud let his frustration release as he ran his hand over the metal casing, imagining the wind stinging his cheeks and whipping away all petty problems. </p><p>Steel and fuel and engines. These things he could read and knew how to handle. These things made sense to him. Specific actions caused expected reactions. One plus one equals two. Always. Without fail. </p><p>He suspected that the language of people, of women especially, where the rules and expectations were constantly shifting like quicksand, would forever remain alien. </p><hr/><p><b>**Author’s Note**:</b> Some slight smut at last! Muahaha. Thank you all for keeping up with my “slow roast” of a story and for the kind comments. Thank you to Dr Waffle for being my awesome beta (even though he made me revisit/rewrite a chunk of the entire flashback scene to make Tifa less bossy! :P) and @Perlmuttt for the fabulous cover art, this time with glasses! I’m glad to be done with the character set-up portion of this tale and segue into the meat. Probably gonna slow down from weekly updates to bi-weekly now since I’m running out of pre-written material. Looking forward to continuing this adventure with you all!</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Biology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b> <em>ADVISORY</em> </b>: chapter contains underage adult situations (17/18) + is stupid long (apologies!)</p><p>
  <em> “Examines various aspects of the human body, and the implications of modern biological research for human beings. Topics include diet, nutrition and associated diseases; circulatory disease, immunity, human genetics, biorhythms, new diseases, genetic engineering and reproductive engineering.” </em>
</p><p>[ : <b>The Curriculum</b> : ]</p><p>Chapter 5 | Biology</p><p>Cloud glared at the machine. </p><p>The machine glared back. Or at least it would have if it had that capability. </p><p>Scanning his studio apartment, Cloud ensured that nothing else was out of place. His sheets were still tangled at the end of his bed, the same dirty mug in the kitchenette sink, and his desk, with all its precious contents, tightly closed and undisturbed. </p><p>Regardless, that didn’t make him any more comfortable with the idea that someone had entered this space without his consent. </p><p>“<em> Cloud </em>!” From the opposite end of the building, Zack could be heard sprinting down the hall of their male-only floor and Cloud knew to open the door before he rammed into it. Like a kid on Solstice morning, his friend stumbled over the threshold, bright-eyed and wild-haired. “Did you get one too? Can you believe it?!”</p><p>Shamelessly scrambling onto the mattress, Zack poked at the brand new air conditioner mounted above the window like it was some sort of fantasy teleporter. </p><p>“Three weeks. It took Lockhart <em> three weeks </em> to whip maintenance into getting their shit together. Wow. This can’t be real.” Pressing the power button with one hand while pinching himself with the other, the room was soon blasted with an impressively potent, chilling gust of air. Zack groaned as if in the throes of ecstasy. “It’s a Godsdamn miracle. Don’t judge me if I start crying, kay?”</p><p>“So she bullied a few aging, overpaid mechanics to actually do their jobs for once.” Cloud reached into his mini-fridge and pulled out a soda. “It’s not exactly walking on water.”</p><p>“Oh, but it is, dear Mr. Strife! This is a victory after a decade-long war. It feels like forever since I’ve been able to comfortably wear a stitch of clothing to bed.”</p><p>“Then I thank the Goddess that the fire alarms also don’t work,” he rebutted, popping the tab and taking a lengthy sip of sugar water. As frigid air enveloped the room and Zack lolled his head back and forth in front of the vent like a puppy out a car window, Cloud was filled with equal parts appreciation and suspicion. </p><p>Over the past month, Headmistress Lockhart proved she was as cunning as she was efficient and rarely moved forward with any project or purchase without obvious, widespread benefits. Therefore, this upgrade to their living quarters, though sorely desired, could not help but pique his paranoia. </p><p>When he went to bed that night, rolled up in a down comforter he had never before been able to use, Cloud debated seeking her out if only to offer a warning. The parents of Midgar Preparatory paid good money so that their children had access to fine foods, the latest sporting equipment and decorated social events. Not so that the failures who taught them could get a pleasant night’s sleep. He wondered how elaborate the accounting gymnastics had been to wrangle such items and what sort of threats had finally lured the maintenance men out of their bunker for the install. He marveled at how she had found the <em> balls </em> for either and if she had moved forward with or without the board’s approval. </p><p>Smirking at the vision of Tifa staring down Rufus Shinra, cornering him with her sharp debating skills until the man was thoroughly skewered, he once again fell asleep immersed in memories of brighter days. </p><hr/><p>July 0004</p><p>
  <em> Nibelheim  </em>
</p><p>He had been debating which t-shirt was worthy of taking up the last cubic inch in his duffle bag when there was a knock at the window. </p><p>At first, Cloud ignored it, believing it to be just the wind jostling the nearby tree branch, but then it happened again. More distinctly in a sing-song pattern this time. Turning toward the window, both options were dropped as he was hit with what he assumed to be the beginnings of a heart-attack.</p><p>“Tifa!”</p><p>This girl would be the death of him. At the ripe old age of eighteen.</p><p>Dashing to the frame, he yanked it open and pulled her from her precarious perch, balancing on a mere three inches of crumbling cement. As she regained her footing inside his room, he slammed the window shut and pinned her with a glare. “What the <em> hell </em>? What if you had fallen!?”</p><p>His concern was waved away like a bad smell. “Unlikely. Gymnastics and Muay Thai champion, remember?” She feigned a right hook inches from his face but Cloud, thoroughly unamused, didn’t give her the benefit of a blink let alone a flinch. “Hmm. Guess we’re not ready to joke about this yet?”</p><p>“I swear to the Goddess…” Cloud rubbed both hands down his cheeks. “Are you seriously trying to kill me, woman?”</p><p>“No. Not <em> seriously </em>.”</p><p>“You do know that this house, though decrepit, still has a front door, right?”</p><p>“I know.” Traipsing over to his bed, Tifa gingerly sat upon the edge, fanning out the skirt of her teal dress against his faded, rocket-ship sheets. “Just didn’t know if your mom was home or not.”</p><p>“She’s not.” Turning his back on her, Cloud nabbed any random shirt off the ground and shoved it into his duffle. One final battle with the rusted zipper and it was done. He was officially packed for college. “She has the graveyard shift at the pub.”</p><p>“Really? She’s working on your last night?”</p><p>Kicking the bag toward the door, Cloud sighed. He hated having to explain how different their domestic lives were. Like trying to pawn sardine-paste off as caviar. “Part-time waitresses don’t get to nitpick the schedule. If hours get offered, she has to take them. I’m used to it.”</p><p>“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry.” </p><p>“Don’t be.” Closing the now mostly empty drawers of his dresser, he relented to exhaustion and joined her on the bed, falling on his back with hands clasped on his stomach. After a few seconds, Tifa did the same so that they were both staring at the dim glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across his ceiling. </p><p>The tableau reminded him of their tryst at the water tower, over a month and a lifetime ago. If he were being honest, <em> everything </em> reminded him of it. From a sparkling drop of dew on a flower petal to a dead dove rotting in the gutter. Considering how abruptly she had departed that night, he had expected the Graduates’ Dance rendezvous to be the end of...whatever it was they had become during those fervent minutes. </p><p>Then, out of nowhere, the following weekend she had stopped by the garage he sometimes helped out at in exchange for space to tinker on personal projects. The conversation was mostly one-sided on her end, especially without the inspiration of alcohol, but her disposition was sunny enough to disband any lingering shadows of awkwardness. She deemed him a good listener and teacher, eagerly inquiring as to the names and functions of tools, playing assistant as he tried to finish assembling the Frankenstein of a motorcycle he hoped to take with him to Midgar. </p><p>After he admitted a proficiency in calculus and she in languages, each other’s weakest subjects, she suggested they study for final exams together. Many late night sessions ended with them chuckling over coffees in a hidden corner of his mom’s pub. When summer vacation officially began, they met up almost every morning at either the creek or the library or the garage to whittle away the hours. This had happened every single day for four weeks straight.  </p><p>Despite all the one-on-one time, they didn’t have sex again. Or kiss. Or even touch in any way that could be deemed inappropriate. Such activities seemed to have been swept not only off the table but under the rug with a hefty trunk dropped on top. Cloud didn’t mind. It made things simpler. Nor did he mind that the bike project, which had once been the center of his universe, had since been essentially abandoned. </p><p>Wasting time with Tifa proved to be fun and relaxing while simultaneously akin to having nails hammered through his feet. As much as she praised his bravery in chasing his dreams, encouraging him to take total advantage of the scholarship he had been blessed with up to a PhD if possible, she also made him want to throw it all away; to burn the once cherished acceptance letter from Midgar U and use its ashes to fertilize the garden of that small cottage by the creek she had deemed ‘cute’ and he could probably afford a downpayment on after a year or two working full-time at the garage.</p><p>Dreams were funny, malleable things. </p><p>Apparently.  </p><p>“You didn’t tell me you were gonna cut your hair.” Tifa interrupted his musing with a poke to the shoulder. </p><p>Reaching behind his neck, Cloud frowned as his fingers wove through soft spikes instead of hitting the usual leather band. “Yeah. Mom suggested a trim before leaving and I realized I had never seen guys in pictures of Midgar with long hair, so I figured…” he cut himself off with a gruff breath. “Never mind. It was random and stupid.”</p><p>“On the contrary!” Sensing him about to fold-in on himself again, Tifa propped up onto an elbow. “I think it looks great. Especially paired with these.” She tapped on the bridge of his glasses and Cloud immediately flushed with shame. In the chaos of her arrival, he had forgotten he had them on. “You’re like a real, grown up, college guy now.” </p><p>“I don’t really need them,” he insisted, fighting against the urge to rip them off his face and out the window. “They’re just for traffic signs. And fast-moving cars. Only things that are, like, more than fifteen feet away.”</p><p>“So you only need them to <em> see </em>?” she teased and Cloud groaned in defeat, cursing and loving her ability to see right through his bullshit. </p><p>“Fine. I’ll admit it: I’m blind. Happy now?”</p><p> “I’d be happier if you’d stop being so weird about other people’s opinions. Think of how much easier high school could have been if you’d been able to read the blackboard?!” </p><p>“Says the girl who obviously has never been stuffed in a locker. Not to mention…” He raised his other arm to cup the back of his head, looking up at her with a cocky smirk. “I never <em> had </em>to read the blackboard anyway. My notes were better.”</p><p>“So were mine,” she countered, sticking out her tongue. “And legible too!” </p><p>A chuckle tried to escape but he swallowed it midway, forcing his mouth into an exaggerated pout. “Attacking my penmanship? That’s low, Lockhart. Here I thought we were becoming friends.”</p><p>“Of course we’re friends, Cloud.” Something in her voice brought the jibes to a screeching halt. She appeared sad all of sudden. Sad and confused. He was about to ask her what was wrong but then one of her hands reached up and settled, gently, upon the center of his chest, just above his heart. Words were not possible once she touched him like that. </p><p>“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” she whispered, fingers clenching into the fabric of his grease-stained, white t-shirt. “Just when we started...just after…” A stuttered breath escaped and when she looked at him again there was a thick shine to her carmine eyes. “Do you ever feel like Fate’s timing is a bit off? Like, if one little thing were different, you could be in a completely different place, wanting completely different things?”  </p><p>Cloud gulped, fearing yet again that she had been reading his mind somehow. </p><p>Of course he felt that way. </p><p>Maybe if he had been a bit taller, a little stronger, if that day in third grade when he had attempted to rescue Tifa from bullies, if he had been the one with his foot on their backs and their faces in the mud, maybe this would have been a whole other sort of goodbye. Or maybe leaving home and traveling across the world for a higher education wouldn’t have even been a tempting option.</p><p>Sensing in him the inability to answer, Tifa pushed on, though with clear apprehension. “I wanted to say, before you go, that...that I was surprised you didn’t tell anyone what happened between us. At the Graduates’ Dance, I mean.” </p><p>He almost laughed at the implication that he had anyone in his life he’d <em> want </em> to share such intimate knowledge with, but kept it reined in. This conversation, if they were indeed having it, demanded the same gentle treading as late-spring river ice. “Of course I didn’t. I promised. Promises are serious things.”</p><p>“Hmm. Agreed.” </p><p>Shifting down the mattress until she had the space to lay down fully, she rested her head on his chest. He thought his nerves would implode upon contact but, strangely, the pose felt natural once she settled in. Comfortable even. By instinct, his arms knew to fold around her back to bring her closer, cheek pressed against her hair. One would think he had grown accustomed to the spiced-satsuma scented oil she used, but he wasn’t. It never failed to intoxicate him. </p><p>“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” she asked, both voice and body trembling like a wine glass hit with too shrill a note.  </p><p>Cloud tightened his hold. “Of course I will. I promise.”</p><p>That got her smiling. “Good. It’s set to be a rough Senior year. Student council is already gearing up, AVALANCHE is holding a slew of protests I committed to help organize, and half my classes are advanced placement. That and all the stuff with my mom...” She trailed off again. This time, instead of being unable to find the words, she seemed to have realized a mistake and shrank away a little in his arms. </p><p>“What about your mom?” he automatically asked, needing her to continue, needing her to remain close. </p><p>“It’s nothing. Forget about it.” Titling her neck, she peered up at him with a smile so radiant he swore he felt it’s warmth on his cheeks. “Did I mention I like your glasses?” </p><p>“It’s been implied, yes.” He matched her smile, though his was surely much goofier. “I believe the words<em> ‘real, grown-up college guy’ </em>were used?” </p><p>“Did I say <em> ‘real’ </em> ? I meant <em> ‘handsome’ </em>.” Reaching up, she pushed the frames further up the bridge of his nose and then bopped him on the tip. “Handsome, grown-up college guy.”</p><p>“If I didn’t know any better, Ms. Lockhart, I’d think you were flirting with me.” His smile widened when she blushed. Something about her compliment and closeness infused him with even greater confidence than the alcohol had that night on the water tower. </p><p>“If you’re not sure, perhaps I’m being too subtle.” </p><p>In a maneuver too quick for him to react, she swung a leg over his hips and was suddenly straddling him. It was the Graduates’ Dance all over again. He could not suppress the groan that fell from his mouth at the pressure and direct heat. Her choice to wear a dress for the first time all month seemed especially evil, as there was very little between her core and his thin cotton sweatpants.</p><p>She must have planned for this. Right? Tifa planned <em> everything.  </em></p><p>Scrunching his eyes shut, he concentrated on that time he had stumbled upon the village elders enjoying the hot springs, praying to every ethereal being he could think of not to get riled up. At least not until he was sure of her intentions. </p><p>“Tifa...what are you-”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” She giggled breathlessly, though her sliding against him did very little to prove the apology genuine. Even the Gods, had they been listening, wouldn’t have been able to stop most of the blood from clambering down to his pelvis while the remainder burned in his cheeks. “I didn’t- I swear I didn’t expect anything to...I don’t even have a-” After a deep breath, she leaned forward and touched her forehead to his, closing her eyes for this confession. “It just hit me how much I’m going to miss you. That we’re out of time. That I <em> wasted </em>so much of it. That’s all. You don’t have to-”</p><p>“I get it,” he interrupted, frantically nodding. “I <em> so </em>get it.”  </p><p>If she was feeling even one quarter as attached as he was, then of course he understood. Tifa had become his oxygen. The idea of not seeing her for one day, let alone a whole year, made his lungs burn and his brain to get stuck in an infinite, impotent loop, like a gear that wouldn’t catch.</p><p>None of this he could say. Words had never been his forte. Instead, he tried to show her. </p><p>Both thumbs rose to her cheeks, brushing away errant hairs and tears still unshed. Then, as slowly and gently as he could manage, breath held, he somehow summoned the gutsto coax her down and meet his lips in a searing kiss. </p><p>It was different from what they had roughly practiced at the water tower, and yet somehow more desperate. Hotter. As if the entire month leading up to this had been some sort of snail-paced foreplay. When her hands traveled up his chest to press onto the relatively innocent area of his shoulders, it made him feel downright feverish. When she moaned against his mouth, he embraced her becoming the death of him. For what a sweet end it would be. </p><p>Bracing a hand to her lower back, he rolled them over so that she ended up pressed into the mattress with him hovering above, their breaths growing erratic as they nipped at and re-explored one another. The always decisive Tifa left no question as to where she hoped this would lead, one calf snaking around his waist to force his full weight upon her, muttering a semi unintelligible “<em> yes...right there” </em>as she swiveled her hips against his now blatant erection. Such lack of patience almost made him laugh, as did seeing her clutch at the cartoon, space-themed sheets above her head. This may have been his childhood bed, but he was about to do very not-child-friendly things in it. </p><p>Something for her to remember him by. </p><p>As his lips slid along her jaw, fingers reached up to the ties of her bodice, clawing the ribbons loose like they were the wrapping on a much anticipated birthday present. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t afraid this time. Perhaps because he had imagined being with her like this again often enough that it had become second nature. Much like discovering that the final exam was a carbon-copy of a practice version already memorized. </p><p>He kissed down her chest slowly. Wasn’t that what the book Mom had bought said? He had read it again recently and it had filled him with ideas and instructions should this opportunity arise. Don’t rush. Make <em> her </em>the center of the universe. It was her turn to feel as utterly overloaded as he did every second in her presence. </p><p>From the night of the dance, he remembered her confessing that she liked it when he pinched those perfect, pink tips. Judging by the agonized sounds she was soon making, teeth and tongue proved to be much more effective tools than cold fingers had been.  </p><p>After a couple of minutes of such sweet torture, she grew desperate. A second leg hooked around his waist, forcing him closer, the grinding of her hips increasing in speed and force. And the noises she made?...dear <em> Goddess. </em>Gasps and hisses and full-throated moans, fingers digging into the back of his scalp so hard he swore she’d leave scars. Scars which he welcomed, for they would reanimate this memory. </p><p>For a mere second, he debated removing his glasses, having always thought they obscured what little masculinity he had in stock. But something about watching her lose herself in such perfect definition, even through the thin mist that had accumulated on the lenses, made him drop the notion. Tifa liked his glasses. Tifa thought he looked ‘grown-up’ with them.</p><p>He’d show her how <em> grown-up </em> he truly was. </p><p>“Tifa...I want you to feel...” Swallowing any remnants of trepidation, inspired by the way she couldn’t stop writhing against his hardness, he forced himself to spit it out. “I want to make you come, Tifa.” </p><p>Succeeding for sure had become an essential item on his to-do list prior to moving on: Trim hair. Pack clothes. Tifa explode and to never, ever forget him. </p><p> Somewhere beyond his head as he kissed the valley between her bare breasts, he sensed her frantic nodding. “Yes. <em> Please </em>. But I don’t exactly know how-”</p><p>“I could always try-”</p><p>“Your mouth might...I trust-”</p><p>“<em> Anything </em>.”  </p><p>In a blink, he was on his knees by the bed frame with her thighs hooked over his shoulders. Beneath the curtain of skirt, he discovered that her underwear was but a damp piece of red lace and it almost made him burst into giggles. </p><p>Red for good luck, she had explained that fateful night. She may not have prepared for this to happen, but he was pulling the proof that she <em> hoped </em>it would down her legs. </p><p>Slowly, he reminded himself while freeing her toes from the scrap of fabric. </p><p>Go slowly.</p><p>This was all about Tifa. </p><p>When he pressed his tongue against her, firmly dragging it bottom to top and in between, she almost cracked his skull between her thighs as her back involuntarily arched off the mattress.</p><p>Okay. Slower than that. </p><p>It took a few tries to find the best angle and rhythm, to discover that the addition of a finger was what made it truly intense. He was thrilled to learn that he enjoyed pleasuring her even more than being pleasured. It was less stressful, not having to worry about erupting prematurely, and just concentrate on Tifa’s softness beneath his hands, the taste of this most intimate seam plus all those encouraging expletives falling from her lips.  </p><p>She was too far gone to instruct him this time, so he had to go by feel. Which, though less straightforward than having a set map, was much more of an adventure. It reminded him of the first time he had dismantled an appliance, piece by piece, discovering exactly what made the whole system tick before rebuilding it even sturdier than before. Eventually, she was grasping at but unable to get a grip on his short hair. It encouraged him to push his tongue in as deep as it could go, lapping up the extent of her wetness, nose nudging that key spot. She spasmed and cried out when he did that. </p><p>Who needed muscles and height when a man of any size could discover <em> this </em> power? With Tifa’s shaking thighs clenched against his ears, he felt damn invincible. </p><p>“Shit. Holy <em> shit! </em>...Cloud! I’m close. I’m-” </p><p>“<em> Cloud </em>?” </p><p>Out of the haze, a voice came drifting up the stairs. It took several seconds and the repeat of his name before it occurred to him to relent. </p><p>Claudia was home and, according to that telltale squeaking of the floorboards, was headed straight for his room. </p><p>Holy shit indeed. </p><p>Cloud flipped the skirt over his head and tried his best to smooth out its wrinkles. Meanwhile, Tifa, shaking like a newborn lamb, sat up and frantically re-tied her dress laces, face glowing as though sunburnt and bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat. </p><p>“Cloud, sweetie?” A gentle knock rapped upon the door. </p><p>“Just a sec!” Cloud called, grabbing a pillow to shield the tenting in his lap with one hand and wiping the shine off his chin with the other. </p><p>“I heard yelling. Is everything- <em> Oh! </em>” Judging by her reaction, clearly finding a girl in her son’s room was one of the last things she expected. A fully made-up mime would have been less of a surprise. “Tifa, dear. Hi! Welcome!”</p><p>“H-Hi, Ms. Strife,” the teen managed to sputter, finalizing a lopsided bow at her chest that skipped more than half the loops. “I was, umm, just leaving.”</p><p>“Please, you don’t have to! I was only-” She tried to meet her son’s eyes to glean a hint, but his gaze was glued to the pillow, clenched in his lap like a lifesaver. “I’ll just go listen to the radio. <em> Loud </em>radio. In the kitchen. Far away.” </p><p>“Mom.” Cloud winced, silently begging her not to make things any worse than they already were. </p><p>“No, that’s not necessary. It’s late. My parents will be worried.” Standing up, praying that Claudia didn’t read too much into how long it took her, a champion gymnast, to find her balance, Tifa cleared her throat, held her head up high and strode forward. “Good luck, Cloud” she called over her shoulder before passing the threshold. “Maybe I’ll see you at Midgar U next year?” </p><p>“Yeah. Maybe.” He swallowed an obscenely large lump in his throat. “Goodbye, Tifa.” </p><p>“...Goodbye.” </p><p>Long after the front door closed, Mother and son remained stewing in agonized silence up until he felt calm enough to release the pillow. As much as he wished she would leave and pretend nothing happened, he also knew very well that it wasn’t possible. Not for his mother. </p><p>“Sorry,” she said after a few beats, sporting a sympathetic but amused grin. “If you had given me a heads up that you were...<em> entertaining </em>, I’d of-” </p><p>“Eww, Mom. Don’t even-” He tossed the pillow aside and unfurled his spine to sit up properly. “We were just...saying goodbye.” </p><p>“Oh, I have no doubts that you were. All month long I suspect, after you abandoned that bike project. As long as you’ve been saying goodbye<em> prudently </em>, right?” </p><p>Goddess forbid the woman let him have some shred of dignity. </p><p>“It really isn’t...of course we’d <em> never </em>...Why are you back so early anyway?” he barked and, upon seeing her crestfallen expression, instantly regretted it.  </p><p>“Well, if you must know: I may have bribed a colleague with yesterday’s tips to switch shifts. It being a special night and all.”</p><p>Guilt settled upon his shoulders like a wet fur coat. In the glory of a blossoming <em> something </em>with Tifa, he has completely forgotten about the plans his mother had made for his final weeks in Nibleheim. They were supposed to get shaved ice and eat it up in the highest branches of their oak tree, to hit the garden center for some new lily seeds to sprout, to catch salmon in the creek and cook it over an open fire; a country-boy’s ‘greatest hits’ of leisure activities he had adored prior to his attraction to shiny metal and speed. </p><p>   “But if you’d rather be alone,” she added, completely and heartbreakingly sincere, “I understand.” </p><p>“No. It’s okay, Mom. I’m-” </p><p>He didn’t know what he was. Before Tifa’s invasion, he had been in an entirely different state of mind. He had been obsessing over two shirts, torn over which one would make him look cooler, smarter, less likely to be harassed by a whole new group of city-slicker peers. </p><p>Feeling abruptly frail and child-like again, he shuffled down the bed and patted the sheets next to him in invitation. After Claudia settled, he tried to lean an ear on her shoulder like he used to when he was little, but he was a whole head above her’s nowadays. So, instead, this time she leaned upon him. </p><p>“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he confessed into her butter-colored locks.</p><p>“Hmm? Ready for what, dear?” </p><p>Cloud shrugged. “Growing up, I guess? Not being the smartest person in the room? Not having you or this house to hide behind? I don’t know.” </p><p>“Oh, my sweet, sweet boy.” Pulling away to look up at him, she placed a calloused hand to his cheek. Her eyes - the same aquamarine shade as his which, he supposed, <em> were </em> kinda unique and beautiful - started to shimmer. “Scratch that. My brilliant young <em> man. </em>You’ll always have me. No matter how far apart we are.”</p><p>She bopped him on the nose, just like Tifa had done earlier, and he was reminded that he, technically, still had a choice. He wasn’t on the train yet. Hadn’t signed his apartment lease or registered for classes. He could work full-time at the garage and help with the bills. He could support Tifa during her sure-to-be chaotic Senior year and get to know her more thoroughly. In all possible ways. </p><p>The calculations roared in his head again, attempting to impose an exact, numerical value upon respect and glory. As if any machine, no matter how sleekly designed, could compare to the curves of Tifa’s body or any engine roar overshadow those enthralling little gasps still echoing in his ears?</p><p>In that moment, he realized that he was, maybe, falling in love. Or perhaps he always had been in love. Long before the events of the Graduates’ Dance. It was the only explanation for him considering something so foolish, for denying his firmly sound logic.</p><p>That’s what love, famously, did to a person. It made you stupid. Stupid and oh so very happy.  </p><p>Fuck. <em> Fuuuucck. </em></p><p>The timing was off, the clock broken. Again. It always would be. But he could fix it. Make it right. That was his primary if not only skill: fixing things.  </p><p>“Mom.” Cloud’s fists clenched on his knees, striving to get a sure grip on his future. “Mom, I think...I’m wondering if maybe I shouldn’t-” </p><p>“You <em> should </em>get some rest, dear,” she interrupted, as if knowing exactly what he was about to suggest and nipping it in the bud. Slapping his cheek affectionately, she stood. “I’m very proud of you, you know? Getting out of this town. Making something of yourself. It’s an amazing opportunity, isn’t it?”</p><p>At this, Cloud offered a timid grin as his fingers unfurled. “Yeah. It is.”</p><p>Logic won. It always did with him. </p><p>He was getting on that train no matter what, if only to become the type of man they both deserved. He and Tifa’s paths would cross again soon. He’d write to her as often as possible to ensure it. When they did reunite, he would be stronger, smarter, richer and at-long-last <em> worthy </em>. </p><p>“I’m glad you remember.” Claudia bopped him on the nose one final time. “Oh! And don’t forget to pack your trophy.” </p><p>“Huh? What troph-”</p><p>Reaching down, she plucked a pair of red lace panties from the floor and smacked them to his chest so that he had no choice but to catch them.</p><p>Chuckling unabashedly, Claudia left her wide-eyed, crimson-cheeked son alone and headed to the kitchen to bake his favorite cookies for the long road ahead. </p><hr/><p>Present Day</p><p>
  <em> Midgar  </em>
</p><p>Cloud woke up choking again. </p><p>This time, instead of air, it was on the tangy, metallic taste of blood.</p><p>As coughs wracked his chest and throat, trembling fingers rose to his upper lip only to come away coated red and sticky. The brand-new comforter was similarly decorated like some distasteful abstract painting. He had just come to the conclusion that there wasn't any less pleasant way to greet the day when Fate-the-asshole had to prove otherwise. </p><p>The curtains by his side lit up for a fraction of a second, drawing his attention to the window. He would have thought it was a trick of the light but then it happened again. </p><p>And again. </p><p>And <em> again </em>.</p><p>Yanking the fabric aside, Cloud inched closer and squinted, half expecting to be awed by some freak, soundless storm. Instead, the lawn of the faculty residence building was revealed to be a whole other phenomenon. </p><p>Blindly slapping around the nightstand, he found and shoved his glasses onto his face before scrambling back to the sill on all fours. </p><p>The usually empty road which divided campus was packed bumper to bumper with cars and media vans. Tens if not over one hundred bodies wielding microphones, cameras or sound booms scurried about and barked at each other. He watched, horrified, as Barret and Marlene ran the gauntlet of the fern-lined, front path, the tank of a man shielding his daughter’s face with one beefy arm while using the other to shove anyone to the ground who dared get too close. </p><p>“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! We’ve got company!” Zack was banging on his door despite Cloud having frequently told him not to bother him in the mornings. Today, he supposed, boundaries were on sabbatical. </p><p>Groaning, Cloud stumbled over to the door and flipped the lock. </p><p>“Cripes, it’s like a-ahh-<b> <em>Holy shit</em> </b> <em> ! </em>What happened to you!?” </p><p>Having forgotten about his face in all the hoopla, Cloud winced before turning his back on the uninvited guest. “Just a nosebleed. It’ll stop.”</p><p>“Goddess almighty, looks like you hit someone in the frying pan with your face.”</p><p>“It’s not that bad.”</p><p>Once in the bathroom, Cloud glanced at his reflection and had to bite back a whimper. Sometime during his sleep, he must have messed with his face and the blood completely covered his chin, neck and was splattered all over his grey, v-neck t-shirt. It looked as though he had spent the night feasting on a carcass like a rabid wolf. </p><p>Great.</p><p>Flipping on the water, he tossed his glasses onto the vanity and began scrubbing. “Dare I ask what’s going on out there?”</p><p>“That’s what I’m here for! At first, I figured Lockhart sold us out as a reality show to cover the cost of the air conditioners. Perhaps with a brilliant title along the lines of ‘<em> Professors of Love’ </em> .” Zack sighed, as if they had missed the most golden of opportunities, while flicking through messages on his PHS. “As you are notoriously hopeless with keeping on top of your memos, I figured I should warn you that the school’s official stance is <em> ‘no comment’. </em>”</p><p>“No comment on what? I can provide commentary on things,” he joked, picking at a particularly stubborn, crusty droplet sticking to his chin.</p><p>“Yeah, on the oiliest brand of motor oil, fine. Give them all the sound bytes your greasy little heart desires. But on Ruvie Tuesti’s pregnancy, you need to shut up.”</p><p> Cloud paused his cleansing, leaning back to get a look at Zack’s face beyond the door frame. The guy’s expression was uncharacteristically somber and he instantly knew this was no ruse. </p><p>So it was true. Officially. </p><p>Now aware of the media circus’ theme, Cloud tried to wipe all related knowledge from his brain. He repeated it like a mantra: No comment. No comment. No <em> fucking </em>comment. </p><p>Perhaps just one comment. A question, actually. Just to Zack. </p><p>“Why are they <em> here </em>?” he could not help but inquire, reaching for a hand towel to dry off. “Why not the Tuesti mansion or the student residence?” </p><p>Zack scratched at the back of his neck. “There’s a...<em> theory </em> floating around. I suppose, by this point, you can call it a widely accepted assumption. You won’t like it but you gotta know.”</p><p>“Do I, though? You know I don’t believe in gossip.”</p><p>“<em> Believe </em> whatever you want, Cloud, but gossip is real and it can hurt people if not handled delicately. Rumors are bombs that can destroy lives.” Ignoring his need for personal space, Zack stepped past the threshold of the already cramped bathroom and met his friend’s stare in the mirror. “I only got one minute before I gotta escort Aerith out of here, so here it goes.”</p><p>“Zack...please don’t-”</p><p>“Shut up and deal, K? It’s been implied that someone on staff is...<em> responsible </em> for the girl’s predicament.”</p><p>Cloud’s toothbrush clattered to the tile, his brain growing fuzzy as the words settled in like a fungus.  </p><p>That couldn’t be true. </p><p>His most recent memory of Ruvie Tuesti was from just before the solstice break, a little over a month ago. She had brought a batch of chocolate-mint (his favorite) cupcakes to class to celebrate her birthday. The whole group had sung the obligatory tune and giggled by the light of the blowtorches which they later used to roast marshmallows. </p><p>She had just turned sixteen years old. A child by law and logic.  </p><p>It couldn’t be <em> real </em>. </p><p>Sure, two kids could make the odd, curious mistake, but adults knew better. Adults, teachers especially, were meant to protect these youths, not... </p><p>A sudden need to retch seized hold and he had to lean over the sink to spit out a mouthful of bile. Zack merely looked on in sympathy, waiting until he got a handle on himself after a couple more dry heaves. </p><p>“I’m just repeating what I’ve heard,” he explained quietly after the worst was over. “The admins are going to be looking very closely at all us guys, especially the younger, single ones, and likely dissect our interactions with her, so...be ready and try not to freak out, okay? That’s all. No comment, remember?” He patted him on the back twice before backing out of the bathroom, across the kitchenette and out the door. “No comment!” he yelled one final time before slamming it shut. </p><p>Staring wide-eyed at his reflection, Cloud tried to morph his features into something less shellshocked. Beyond the drawn curtains, the camera flashes renewed their assault, voices rising in volume as his colleagues rushed to make it to homeroom on time. All of it made his anxiety spike to levels where his lungs seemed to shrivel, surely leading to an episode if he didn’t find a way to tame it. With so many paparazzi roaming the campus, getting to his woodshed un-harassed was probably a fever dream. </p><p>He needed help.</p><p>Minus the usual hesitation, Cloud strode over to his desk and yanked open the drawer, hands already trembling as he dug up a vial. Empty, he realized upon shaking it. He found another. Also empty. </p><p>Shit. <em> Shit </em>!</p><p>A fourth and a final fifth. All empty. Not one drop left. </p><p>How could he have been so careless?</p><p>The flashes were relentless by then, triggering a migraine but thankfully nothing worse. He needed to get out of there. At least at his classroom workshop, he had a chance at being distracted. He’d get more vials on the weekend. In the city. He just had to make it through two more days. </p><p>Slamming the drawer closed so hard he heard something crack, Cloud returned to the bathroom to shower, turning the water on as cold as possible. </p><hr/><p>The staffroom was disconcertingly courtroom-like that afternoon. The usual hubbub of conversations dotted with laughter had been reduced to whispers and suspicious glares. Cloud could only take so much of it, practically inhaling his waffles prior to returning to his workshop. Sanding planks - a task he usually reserved for dog-housed students - proved to be redundant and physically demanding enough work that it kept most of the effects at bay. </p><p>Most, but not all. </p><p>Passing through the temple atrium which connected both wings, Cloud’s eye happened to be caught by that new Goddess statue; the open-hearted one he had first noticed after his initial assessment meeting with the Headmistress. It reeled him in, as always, and he decided to take a moment to admire it, pushing up his glasses as he stepped closer to the temple doors. </p><p>As macabre as ever, he had come to appreciate the artistry of the splintered ribs and placement of teardrop cut, red jewels trickling from the wound, her expression only slightly pained but mostly loving. Unbidden, that same scripture passage popped into his head as it always did: </p><p>
  <em> ‘Upon request, she will loan you her protection, her comforts, her still-beating heart ripped from her chest for you to feast upon and ease your pangs of hunger and thirst. All she asks in return is for you to love others the same as you love her…’ </em>
</p><p>Such a selfless gesture, fantastical or not, reminded him that nothing worth fighting for was ever won without sacrifice. Maybe, just maybe, he could understand why some bought into all this “Goddess” bullshit. The concept of an omnipotent being having a plan for each individual soul on earth...that nothing, not even the flapping of a butterfly’s wings, happened without reason…</p><p>How he wished he could be that irrational.</p><p>
  <em>  “Because it looks bad, that’s why!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “With all due respect, I don’t give a damn how it looks to you, Scarlet. And I cannot believe you invited those vultures past the gates!” </em>
</p><p>The voices were coming from the inner temple and, based on the frantic clicking of heels down the stairs, he assumed they had just left the Headmistress’s office on the upper balcony. Sure enough, Lockhart’s voice soon followed. </p><p><em> “Let’s be civil, please!” </em> he heard her shout over the din. <em> “Mr. Tuesti, I assure you that I am doing everything in my power to-” </em></p><p><em> “He’s being a selfish brat, as usual,” </em> sneered Mrs. Saber with her infamous condescension. <em> “If he’d just go out there and make the damn announcement, this would all be over. Shinra agrees. Your useless morals are threatening-”  </em></p><p>
  <em> “If Ruvie chooses not to, I cannot force her.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Like hell you can’t!” </em>
</p><p><em> “This is </em> <b>my </b> <em> family, Scarlet! You, of all people, have no right-” </em></p><p>Cloud didn’t hear any more. He ran out of that atrium and into the west wing corridor as though being chased by the blade-like sharpness of their words. </p><p>It was happening again. He could feel the burn in his veins like they were being injected with acid. </p><p>He had just made it around the corner near his classroom when his legs refused to support him any longer and buckled, forcing him to stumble against the nearest wall. Rolling so that his back was against it, he then slid to the floor, pressing his palms into his eyelids beneath his glasses while praying for it to pass. </p><p>Several minutes later, when a white-coated figure emerged from the shadows, he was still seated there. Still praying. Still unable to just <em> get up </em>.  </p><p>“Dear oh dear…” came that slimy voice that, if anything, exacerbated the pain. “Mako can do both delightful and terrible things to the body, can it not?”</p><p>“Go away, Hojo,” Cloud mumbled through staggered breaths. “I’m fi-fine.”</p><p>“Of course you are, my boy.” The doctor chuckled, as if they were trading friendly, casual jibes down by the watercooler. “I expect you are aware that the famed euphoric effects are achieved through consuming grey matter? It’s the equivalent to paying for an evening at the Honeybee Inn with one’s ability to tie shoelaces or taste citrus. Sad, is it not?” </p><p>“Do you need something?” Though he hadn’t the ability to stand, by sheer force of will Cloud managed to drop his hands to his lap and glare upwards. “Cause, as you can see, I’m kinda busy here, so...”</p><p>Hojo’s smile widened, revealing a line of yellowed teeth. “<em> You </em>...you’re smarter than that. Aren’t you, Mr. Strife?”</p><p>Besides narrowing his eyes, Cloud chose not to give the benefit of a response. </p><p>“You need to adjust your dosage,” the doctor pressed on, one gnarled finger tapping upon his chin as he examined his colleague like a specimen in a petri dish. “Yes. A point five milliliter increase and dedicated, daily consumption. Obviously, continuing to restricting your calorie intake to pure sugars and carbohydrates will slow degradation, but we can also attempt-”</p><p>“I don’t remember asking for your opi-” A hot poker’s worth of pain shot through his right arm, making him fumble and drop all coherent words. The opposite hand reached across his torso to quell the spasms but he still ended up writhing, one foot kicking out sporadically, the back of his head hitting the wall so hard that the plaster cracked. </p><p>Hojo watched. He always <em> watched </em>. Worst of all, he never stopped smiling the entire time, as if he were being presented with the shiniest of new toys.</p><p>“You know,” he began again after the episode had reduced an odd twitch or two. “I am looking for...<em> discreet </em>subjects for a new mako therapy agent. According to animal trials, it has the potential to vastly improve your quality of-” </p><p>“N-nottt...I’m <em> definitely </em> not interested in- in being... lab rat,” Cloud somehow managed to sputter between gulps of air. He had come across enough mutated rodent corpses when dumpster diving for scrap metal to know to stay far, far away from Hojo’s definition of <em> ‘potential’ </em>. </p><p>“Hmm. Suit yourself.” Digging into his white-coat pocket, the rotten jack-o-lantern of a man extracted a glass tube filled with six little green spheres that emitted a barely discernible light. “I was going to offer you a sample of my latest venture: a condensed, pure formula to be consumed orally. Injections are ancient technology, horrendously expensive and the side effects...Ouf! Very intense, are they not?”</p><p>Except for the increased speed of his breathing and the bead of sweat running down the side of his face, Cloud didn’t react. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. None of his muscles were obeying.</p><p>“As for becoming a - what did you call it? - <em> lab rat </em>? No one is forcing your hand here. I have piles of applicants clambering to participate in my official trials. I merely considered that a man in your ill-fitted shoes would prefer exploring solutions that did not involve lawyers, reports, placebos, and oh-so-many other tedious precautions.” He sighed wistfully, glancing over his shoulder towards his fancy new, grant-funded lab like it was a relative not living up to their potential. Then he knelt to the floor so that he and Cloud were eye to eye, somehow aware and keen to take advantage of his temporary paralysis. </p><p>“You do whatever makes you comfortable, boy,” he whispered with barely contained excitement, shimmying the tube into the breast pocket of Cloud’s dress shirt. “Consider this a friendly gesture from a colleague. If you want more, then I’m always open to discussing...an arrangement.”</p><p>After patting the pocket, Hojo stood up, knees cracking from the effort. From Cloud’s low vantage point, with the hallway fluorescent lights glowing around the doctor’s shadowed face, he felt like he was being judged by the proprietor of Hell himself. </p><p>“And may the Goddess have mercy on your soul.”</p><hr/><p>He told himself there was no other choice. </p><p>Five agonizing minutes passed and he had barely regained control of one arm. Class was about to start. The hallway would soon be flooded with students who would surely drag him through the length of the building to the med bay and then Aerith would know and Zack would somehow find out through the grapevine and everything, his entire life, would crumble to dust. </p><p>There was no choice. </p><p>On the firefly-glow’s worth of a bright-side, Hojo’s sample worked exceedingly well. </p><p>Not only was it more portable and subtle to consume in pill form, but the effects were also more even than the punches of energy that used to inundate his muscles, forcing him to accidentally break forks or pens or his own fingers which would heal too fast and crookedly. In contrast, this version felt like a smooth wave blossoming from his stomach and gently spreading to his fingers, toes and crown of his skull. Within a few seconds, he felt light and powerful and his eyesight sharpened to such a degree that he swore he was seeing shades of the spectrum that didn’t exist for humans.  </p><p>Not that it mattered. Because this was going to be the one and only time he used it. On the weekend he’d return to the city for his own, usual stock and those spherical little freaks were going straight in the trash. </p><p>Until the weekend, however, the tube was slipped into his pants pocket. </p><p>Just in case. </p><p>Nudging the vending machine in the secret ‘freebie’ spot, Cloud then returned to his workshop-classroom, swung his feet up on the desk and perused his overflowing PHS inbox. There were no fewer than four urgent memos regarding Ruvie Tuesti and how to handle the grazing herd of press, most of which were reminders that they had all signed non-disclosure agreements in addition to the “no comment” policy Zack had already informed him of. Another direct message from Yuffie announced that the materials budget for his class had been raised thirty-two percent plus an additional twenty thousand specifically to bring the workshop up to code. </p><p>At this revelation, Cloud nearly choked on his soda. </p><p>He had no idea how or why Tifa had pulled it off and decided to simply be grateful, already making plans to replace the ancient air-filtration system which, in its current state, merely relocated sawdust from one end of the room to the other. </p><p>When class began, Denzel, Marlene, Andrea, Ruper, Wymer, Kyrie, and even Septina were thrilled by the news as he unfurled each of their annotated blueprints and pointed out where they could now afford to order upgraded materials. The seven of them were gathered around the central conference table doing a round-robin suggesting improvements on one another’s projects, when they were interrupted by a knock on the glass. </p><p> Glancing up, they saw Headmistress Lockhart, wearing a grey pinstripe dress and green silk scarf pinned at the shoulder with the usual halo, beckoning Cloud over like he was some sort of pet. </p><p> Trying really hard not to groan in frustration, Cloud addressed the class. “I’ll be back in a few. First one to figure out an alternative to Septina’s overloaded track that doesn’t explode the rest of her design gets my respect.”</p><p>“And your cookie?” suggested Denzel, nodding toward a plastic-wrapped, chocolate chip monstrosity waiting at his desk.</p><p>“And <em> half </em> my cookie,” Cloud conceded with a chuckle.</p><p>Once outside, Tifa led him away from the glass hall and around the bend for some wisp of privacy, close to the outer doors he most often used to escape to the woodshed. </p><p>“I assume you’ve heard the rumors regarding Ruvie Tuesti?” she began bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest. </p><p>Cloud swallowed an instinctual rise of stomach acids. “No comment. Right?”</p><p>“Hmm. Right.” The toe of her slingback shoe started tapping as she scanned him head to foot and back again, as though searching for a concealed weapon. Or worse. Cloud shrunk under her scrutiny, feeling exposed and completely at her mercy, but not in a good way like at the Graduate’s Dance.</p><p>Raising a hand to his cheek, thinking she may be distracted by some remnant smear of grease, he was reminded that he had forgone his glasses as he temporarily didn’t need them thanks to Hojo’s sample. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe his eyes were glowing like some kind of alien monster and she knew exactly why. </p><p>Damn you, Hojo.</p><p>As he waited for his boss to label him a junkie and toss him to the curb, her expression morphed from one of suspicion to concern. The deeply furrowed brow and bloodshot eyes made her appear much older and tired than her twenty-six years should allow.</p><p>“I’ve spent the entire morning talking to the Board and reviewing old security footage,” she began quietly, as if in confession. “They’ve all been saying the same thing. <em> You </em> were Ruvie’s favorite teacher. She bought <em> you </em> expensive presents; those saplings I’ve seen you tending to. She made <em> your </em> favorite cupcakes on <em> her </em> birthday. <em> You… </em>” she paused to take a stuttered breath, “used to escort her out to that woodshed of yours. After school hours. Past sunset a couple of times. Right?”</p><p> Cloud felt the blood drain from his face. There was no point or need in denying. “Yes, I did. Are you implying something, Headmistress?”</p><p>Tifa chuckled humorlessly. “Please don’t- Look, we both know what this looks like and that there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation. So before I hand over any footage to the Board, as I must, I wanted to give you the chance to give it to me.”</p><p>“Give you what?”</p><p>“Your <em> perfectly reasonable explanation </em>. Please.” Those wide carmine eyes of her started to shimmer, allowing a glimpse of the girl he had kissed beneath the plastic stars. One who had been blindsided by the depths of her attraction to such a simple, country-boy which she had spent so many years not even noticing. Clearly, this was not a leniency she would have offered to just anyone. </p><p>Not trusting his own mouth, not even for a repeat of “no comment”, he remained stubbornly silent. </p><p>“Come on, Cloud,” she pushed, daring to use his first name, guard officially worn down. “We’re on the same team, okay? I can...protect you, to a point. Now would be the time to confess anything unsavory people may dig up so the legal team can prepare adequate defense.” </p><p>That set something off. His vision turned red once she admitted she had a plan. It implied that some part of her genuinely worried it could be true and another, darker part, perhaps for nostalgia or (more likely) the school reputation’s sake, was willing to help him weasel out of punishment.  </p><p>“You think I’ve been fucking around with a student?” he growled through clenched teeth. “Seriously?”</p><p>At that, her jaw dropped, frantically glancing about to ensure no one was within earshot. “Language, Mr. Strife!”</p><p>“<em> Accusations, </em> Headmistress Lockhart!” He took a step forward and she held her ground, lips and brows pinched together like a statue representation of persistence. “I haven’t looked at, let alone touched <em> anyone </em>since-” He caught himself before confessing something truly unsavory, swallowing it like the most bitter of pills. Such a revelation would not help his case. “The point is: no. I had nothing and want nothing to do with it.”</p><p><em> And screw you for ever thinking that I would. </em> </p><p>“But the woodshed-”</p><p>“Had you bothered to ask anyone who actually spends time around here, you’d know that Ruvie recently acquired an antique buggy which she drove to and from school. I helped her duct tape it back together every couple of days when some part or another failed. Recordings from the parking lot will confirm.”</p><p> “Oh. Okay then.” Tifa took another faltering breath, straightening her silk scarf as if that would untangle the building pressure. “After spending so much one-on-one time together, surely you must know a little of her personal life? Who she was seeing?” </p><p>“Right.” Cloud scoffed, falling back against the wall opposite. “Cause who we’re sleeping with comes up so organically when putting out engine flames alongside a <em> kid </em>.” </p><p>“Mr. Strife, can you do me a favor and just answer <em> one, damn </em> question minus the sarcasm?” she spat with a frustrated little head shake, causing few tendrils of hair to fall loose from her clip. “Certain Board members are suggesting that I clean-house to be safe and I don’t want- I <em> know </em> you’re mostly good people and I- I’m...I feel <em> trapped </em>, ya know?” </p><p>Cloud did know and, for a moment, took pity. </p><p>As much as he tried to dodge it, the mystery of Ruvie Tuesti had morphed into a flaming arrow shot straight and true towards his straw house of a life. If the executives and press didn’t find a good reason to divert from the faculty-at-fault headline… </p><p>Barret had been saving for weeks to afford Marlene’s dream Winter Ball dress. Zack had finished designing his engagement ring for Aerith and was haggling with an emerald vendor. Cloud was desperate for many reasons. </p><p>None of them could afford to lose their jobs. Not now. </p><p>“All I know is that sometime mid-November,” he began, already tasting bile on his tongue, mixing with someone else’s secrets, “she requested my help replacing the buggy’s fuel tank. She needed something with greater capacity. Paid for parts in cash.” </p><p>“The Tuestis live in Sector 8, a mere few minutes drive from campus. Why would she need-” </p><p>Tifa’s forehead smoothed as the implication became clear. The famously sheltered girl probably didn’t want her family finding out she was venturing any further than that pathetic little car should reasonably be able to take her. Somewhere far off campus, maybe even outside the city. </p><p>“Don’t let the Board punish the entire staff for this,” Cloud pressed, trying to summon some remnant of the social-justice-warrior she used to be back in the day. “Not only is it not fair, it’s digging in the wrong direction.” </p><p>Tifa nodded. “How do you know?” </p><p>“I don’t.” It was one of the many reasons he hated rumors. They were so malleable and unpredictable. The opposite of fact. Two plus two equals forty-two. “All this wouldn’t even be a discussion if those suits agreed to join this century and teach these kids safe-” </p><p>“Cloud...” she interjected before he could get going, stepping into his space with a stern glare. “We’re not in Nibelheim anymore.” </p><p>That, of all things, he didn’t need to be reminded of. </p><p>“I know that. But why the hell is this apparently<em> ‘modern’ </em> city letting this happen out here? Ruvie is a smart girl.” </p><p>Tifa automatically huffed in disbelief. It made Cloud’s blood turn hot once again. </p><p>“Don’t you dare judge,” he cut off her unvoiced implication. “<em> Our </em> parents cared more about us than outdated, dangerous traditions. Being smart doesn’t mean shit if no one <em> teaches </em> you <em> . </em>” </p><p>After that, they stood in silence, staring at each other for a minute brimming with all levels of tension. </p><p>“I’ll...interrogate her friends then,” Tifa soon whispered, tone heavy with shame. </p><p>Knowing it was pointless, Cloud still pleadingly shook his head. “If Ruvie doesn’t want the world knowing her business, people should respect that. Let her be.”</p><p>“Her parents are...I-I can’t.” Her eyes, those sunset-on-the-lake eyes, similarly begged for understanding. “I simply can’t. I’m sorry.”</p><p>As if on cue, the bell rang signaling the end of class. Stomping footsteps and boisterous laughter burst out of the surrounding labs and put a kibosh on the conversation. Tifa gave him one last, piteous glance before straightening her dress and heading down the hall with her chin held high. Cloud could not help but notice the tremors in her clenched fists, even while she chastised a cluster of students for rolling their kilts into miniskirts. </p><p>Soon as she was out of sight, Cloud felt a twinge in the side of his head that made him suck his breath in through his teeth. Without daring to deliberate, he dug into his pocket for Hojo’s vial, shook another sphere into his palm and swallowed it dry. </p><hr/><p><b>*Author’s Note*</b>: Goddamit, that was stupid long. Sorry everyone. I’m trying to stick to an outline with specific plot points to hit in each chapter, but that flashback scene took on a life of its own and somehow became 8 pages where it was once a couple of paragraphs. It exists just to show they have REASONsTM for being so awkward in the present day but then the smut-fairies hit me, I guess lol. If anyone made it to the end, thank you for following along my first AU experiment. Praise be to my obsession, glasses!Cloud. </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Psychology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b> <em>ADVISORY</em> </b>: chapter contains implied, underage adult situations (~17)</p><p>
  <em> “An introduction to the study of brain and behaviour, perception, learning, memory, cognition, motivation and emotion.” </em>
</p><p>[ : <b>The Curriculum</b> : ]</p><p>Chapter 6 | Psychology</p><p>As the first month of her tenure wrapped up, Headmistress Lockhart continued to prove her - arguably - <em> insane </em>dedication to the job. She was always the first one in the building and the last one out, barring the few times her assistant, Yuffie, was pretty sure she had slept on her office couch. With one manicured hand, the persistent woman tightened the reins on Midgar Preparatory’s staff (enforcing the dress code, extracurricular involvement, more refined syllabuses, etc.) while the other summoned higher class budgets, a library refurbishment and various scholarship fundraising events seemingly out of thin air.</p><p>The few times Cloud ignored the rules, daring to don a beat-up pair of running shoes and/or forgo his tie on days he knew would be spent in the woodshed sifting through debris and sweating buckets, a violet-colored memo never failed to appear in his inbox. She never missed an opportunity to remind him that his benefits could be cut should he continue to breach contract. </p><p>He wanted to be annoyed. However, something about Tifa keeping tabs on what he wore every day, even though their paths rarely crossed, couldn’t help but amuse him. </p><p>Even Barret wasn’t immune to her threats nor charms, the brawny Phys. Ed. teacher sporting a grey suit near bursting at the seams and pair of scuffed, brown loafers whenever outside the gym walls. </p><p>“I’d be pissed if she wasn’t working so damn hard to make this place nicer and safer for my kid,” he admitted after joining their ever-expanding lunch posse. “Couple’a blisters are a small price to pay. Lockhart may be tight-assed and way too concerned with appearances, but she’s a good person. I can tell.” </p><p>Cloud wasn’t sure he agreed, but didn’t comment. Especially on the ‘tight-ass’ part. </p><p>Thinking of Tifa’s ass, or any other part of her, really, had started invoking <em> issues </em>that were getting more and more difficult to ignore. Twice that week, ever since their conversation in the hallway regarding the fate of Ruvie Tuesti, he had awoken wrapped in sticky sheets and burning shame. Even during the day, in the midst of any innocuous task, his body would viciously react if his mind dared flit towards her. It was as though he was a damn, hormone-driven teenager again, getting sucker-punched in the groin every couple of hours with absolutely no rhyme or reason. Thank Gods he was usually alone or half-hidden behind a desk. </p><p>Nevertheless, ignore it he did. Why, he had just managed to successfully ignore it in the shower that morning. Even with soap-slicked hands gliding over his stomach, itching to reach a little lower and relieve the tension, all he had to do was recall any of their recent interactions and stinging humiliation would rush in to throttle the more delicate desire. For the first time, he was grateful for how easily he could feel emasculated.</p><p>On that day, it was still dark when Cloud locked the door to his unit and sprinted down the three flights of stairs, out the residence and towards the school building. The Advanced class had received a shipment of parts that he hoped to unpack prior, ensuring precious workshop time was spent assembling instead of staging packing-peanut wars. </p><p>He had just rounded the bend, gleefully envisioning the shock absorbers Marlene and Denzel had ordered for their bike, when he was hit by a flash bomb of a sight, stopping so abruptly that his loafers left skid marks. </p><p>“Good morning, Mr. Strife,” said Ruvie Tuesti. </p><p><em> The </em> Ruvie Tuesti.</p><p>The ‘ruined’ heiress was standing in the hallway outside his workshop, staring in as if it were a shop window displaying treats she could no longer afford. </p><p>He often used to find her in this exact spot near the end of lunch break; oil-stained fingers clawing at the glass like a toddler at an aquarium, chestnut hair gathered into a tight, no-nonsense braid as she impatiently waited for him to unlock the door.  </p><p>In jarring contrast, her hair was now dyed a blinding shade of gold, styled into voluptuous waves which cascaded down her back, unnaturally long nails painted matte-beige. She was dressed in an elegant, cream-colored wrap-dress with raw lace trim that had probably been ripped straight off a runway model, but appeared slightly offset and wrinkled, as if someone had wrestled her into the thing. Every inch of the girl was so devoid of color and cheer that she seemed much older, more veteran-like, than her sixteen years should allow. The drab effect was unaided by the black-suited man with an earpiece lingering nearby, holding multiple tote bags filled with textbooks and paper. </p><p>Cloud swallowed to dampen the burning in his throat. “Hey. Ruvie.”</p><p>“Did not think anyone would be here this early,” she explained with the ghost of a grin. “I came to collect my incomplete projects.” </p><p>Glancing down at her hands, Cloud was drawn to an ornately carved but still raw-pine birdhouse. It was one of the first things she ever built in his introductory course the previous semester. He remembered her thrilled squeals when the Dremel tool cut the final pieces off the damask pattern stenciled onto the wood she had chopped, sanded and treated all by herself. The reminder made his heart thud against its hastily soldered cracks.</p><p>Had this been a month prior, if he hadn’t known what he now knew, Cloud would have offered her the handle of an axe and an invitation out to the woodshed, sensing and appreciating that she had some frustration to vent. Instead, he was careful to keep several meters between them. Just to be safe. </p><p>Ruvie of course noticed this reluctance and the corner of her lip twitched into a masochistic smirk. As if her favorite teacher’s discomfort was yet another item on the list of ceaseless punishments.</p><p>“You are disappointed in me, Mr. Strife?” she said in a strange tone that was half question, half statement, wholly broken. </p><p>Against better judgement, Cloud forced himself to take a single, tentative step closer, like how one would approach a chimera with a thorn in its paw.  </p><p>“That’s not possible, Ruvie,” he insisted with a smile that, though difficult to summon, was sincere. “It’ll be okay. You can always come back to finish next year.” </p><p>At this, she huffed a little laugh and turned back toward the glass. Cloud wasn’t sure if she was staring into the workshop or at her haggard reflection. “Sure I can, Mr. Strife.” </p><p>After touching his earpiece, the black-suited man slapped a hand on Ruvie’s shoulder and guided her toward the back exit. </p><p>Watching her walk away, Cloud was reminded of one of Makology’s more grisly Spring traditions: an innocent lamb selected to make the ultimate sacrifice, just for the sake of everyone else’s fortune and comfort. </p><hr/><p>After tearing open a package with the delicacy of a rabid hyena, Cloud diagnosed himself as <em> freaked-out </em>and marched toward his woodshed. This was meant to be an exciting day for the class. He was determined to not let anything, not even his own surly mood, ruin it for them. </p><p>This quick-trigger temper was hardly new. However, up until the previous week, he had been able to disguise it when among the students. Something had changed since. Something was <em> grating </em> at him like an itch that he couldn’t locate let alone scratch. Zack still pushed for him to take another swing at a date with Jessie if only to <em> ‘get it out of his system’ </em>, but sexual frustrations were but a small part of the many physical failings which had him on edge.  </p><p>Only one of Hojo’s experimental mako pills remained, carefully buried in the leather satchel he carried everywhere. His old amber vials, now replenished after a trip to Midgar proper the previous weekend, seemed so outdated, bland and dangerous in comparison. Like driving a rusted bike that sputtered globs of black tar versus a materia-infused super speeder. He knew he wanted to get more, perhaps even <em> needed </em> to, but had yet to summon the required level of courage/desperation to approach the slimy doctor. First, he needed to figure out exactly how far his personal boundaries were willing to stretch. </p><p>That was a problem for future-Cloud. </p><p>He didn’t envy that guy...</p><p>The first sun rays were glittering upon the tin roof as he entered the clearing, taking a grateful breath of crisp, forest air and already sensing the iceberg of his frustration start to soften. He had just reached for the door handle when a burst of color caught his eye where there used to be nothing but half-dead grass.</p><p>A fresh plot of earth had been dug along the shed’s south side. Kneeling for closer inspection, he discovered a row of lilies planted there, their buds still shyly closed but promising to soon burst into lushness. </p><p>Aerith. </p><p>The two of them hadn’t really spoken since snapping at one other over how to handle Shinra’s goons. He supposed, as far as silent peace offerings went, this one was pretty damn sweet.</p><p>Stargazer Lilies, they were called. The golden mutation. His mother’s favorite, having grown them in their Nibleheim window boxes. </p><p>As the wind tickled his cheeks and made the green stalks dance, Cloud lost all desire for violent exercise. This time would best be spent putting the finishing touches on that engagement ring Zack had designed. He was far from the only one having a rough year and if anyone deserved a happy ending, it was those two selfless idiots. </p><p>Without any more ado, Cloud strode over to the shed doors and slid them open. </p><p>The last thing he expected was to be hit by a second bombshell before dawn.</p><p>“What the f- DENZEL?!” Slapping both hands over his glasses, Cloud turned his back on the repulsive tableau which included a young girl on her knees. “<em> Sssshhit </em> ! <em> ” </em></p><p>“Mr. Strife!” There was a flurry of gasps, hurried breaths and rustled clothing.</p><p>This sort of crap was beyond his pay-grade. </p><p>“Apologies, Mr.!” some unrecognized, girlish voice stuttered as it sped over the threshold and towards the building. With a groan of annoyance, Cloud dared to peek through the gaps in his fingers if only to confirm a theory. Sure enough, he gleaned just enough to confirm that the figure sprinting away as if her life depended on it was wearing a grey kilt and burgundy socks, not black and green. She did not attend Midgar Prep. </p><p>“We weren’t doing anything, I swear!” Denzel had the gall to insist as Cloud carefully swiveled around to glare at him. “I- we… Dear Goddess, I’m expelled. Ar-aren’t I? My parents are going to <em> kill </em> me.” </p><p>Cloud released a lengthy sigh, summoning all his will-power to meet the kid’s wide and terror-filled, blue eyes. Standing there with his uniform tie hanging around his neck like a noose, trembling and confused, it was impossible not to see some version of himself at that same age.  More than he didn’t want to get involved, more than he wanted to avoid the awkwardness bubbling inside his chest like gas, he decided he mostly <em> never </em>wanted to see the expression he had just seen on Ruvie Tuesti’s face on another student. </p><p>Never. </p><p>“No,” Cloud declared, massaging a stress-strain from the back of his neck. “As long as you promise that I’ll never find you here - or anywhere on campus for that matter - like that again, I saw nothing. Deal?”</p><p>“Of course! Thank you, Mr. Strife!” Swiping his grey sweater-vest from the floor, Denzel bent over in a deep bow before attempting to follow the path of his paramour. However, before making it over the threshold, one of Cloud’s hands shot out and yanked him back by the collar.</p><p>“One more thing,” he said darkly, cursing his conscience for making him extend this scene. “That girl and you - whatever you’re doing or not doing - you’re being careful, right?”</p><p>“Uhhh…” Red rising in his cheeks, Denzel looked out towards where the girl in question had disappeared. “I don’t- I’m not sure what you...mean?”</p><p>Of course he didn’t. </p><p>This fucking place...</p><p>Before he could figure out how to broach the subject, a completely overwhelmed Denzel exploded into a hurricane of half-formed excuses. “I never...She’s- That’s my <em> girlfriend </em> , Aya, by the way. From my Sector 7 High School I went to before here? We, uh- We hadn’t seen each other since winter break and- I dunno, she hitched a ride somehow and I was so <em> happy </em> and I told her I think I- I <em> love </em> her. Yes. And she loves me, probably. And then things just started <em> happening </em> before I even-”</p><p>“I don’t need to- just shut up and listen, okay?”</p><p>Leading the shell-shocked kid over to the chopping stump, Cloud sat upon it and yanked off one of his loafers while his pupil plopped down into the grass. As he rolled the fabric of his sock into a coil, Cloud asked Denzel to list any biology courses taken at his previous school, doing his best to keep his voice confident and authoritative, as if this were any other tedious interview.</p><p>Thus the most uncomfortable conversation of both their lives began. </p><p>Thankfully, after a few cringe-worthy minutes, Denzel proved to be aware of the basic anatomy and reproductive health thanks to the less-conservative, state-run education system he had attended prior to his father’s promotion. All Cloud felt the responsibility to mention was the most common tool that existed to reduce the likelihood of dire consequences.  </p><p>In the end, it was almost like any other lesson he had ever given, once he got into the lecture flow. No different from describing how a gear-shift worked.</p><p>“But how does it stay on?” Denzel soon inquired, discomfort dispelled by intrigue. Like any true engineer. “If it’s only thin latex, then...” He trailed off, unsure of how to end the question. Thankfully, Cloud was prepared. Holding up the sock coil, he shimmied the loop over his bare toes and slowly unfurled it over his foot and calf, keeping the tip pinched. It was as good a demonstration as anyone would ever get in this relic of a facility. </p><p>“Okay then!” After shoving his foot back into his shoe, Cloud slapped his hands to his thighs to signal a wrap-up. “Be smart. Be safe. I’m done. Think I’ve checked off enough fireable offenses for one morning.”</p><p>“No, you didn’t,” Denzel insisted, pushing to his feet and brushing away grass from his pants; surprisingly nonchalant. “I saw nothing. Right, Mr. Strife?”   </p><p>Then he bowed again. More purposefully and deeper than before, careful to meet his teacher’s eyes as he rose and nodded. Once.</p><p>Expelling an appreciative though frustrated breath, Cloud also nodded. “Sure, Denzel. Sure.” </p><hr/><p>The train-wreck of a day didn’t end there. </p><p>A peanut-packing war did inevitably break out as the Advanced Industrial Arts class unwrapped their component orders, but Cloud was too drained to do anything more than let it happen by that point. Somewhere beyond his pile of potatoes doused in syrup, the lunchtime gang of Zack, Yuffie and Barret chatted and jibed as usual, though Cloud couldn’t find it in him to contribute a single syllable. Especially because Aerith, who he had finally summoned the guts to properly apologize to and thank for the flowers, wasn’t present. </p><p>Zack said she was out sick. A bit of a cough, she had told him, but the excuse didn’t sit well with Cloud. Aerith had shown up for work one October morning minutes after her shoulder popped out of its socket in a biking accident. Another time, she had still honored her appointments with students between bouts of vomiting from food poisoning. The mystery of her absence irked him all afternoon as he carefully etched the final leaf-vein detail into the silver band meant for her finger and wrapped up the project around sunset.</p><p>More exhausted, confused and <em> tense </em>than he had ever felt in his life, Cloud trudged up the three stories to his unit with every intention of switching on the air conditioner, faceplanting into the mattress and not moving until those stupid, Saturday temple bells yanked everyone on campus out of sweeter dreams.</p><p>At least that had been the plan. </p><p>The first hint that something was amiss was that the hallway was filled with music. Some sort of upbeat, jazzy number that may have been popular thirty-odd years ago. Friday nights were normally dead around the faculty residence, especially prior to a long weekend, since most staff ventured off campus to their true homes and families. </p><p>The second hint was the potent scent of frying oil and sweetened-soy. </p><p>His bad feeling took root as he made a few tentative steps down the hall and his corner unit proved to be the source of both. </p><p>“Welcome home, dear breadwinner!” </p><p>Zack, with those eerily sharpened senses of his, yanked open the door before Cloud could backtrack more than a meter. His eccentric friend wore a grey t-shirt and jeans under a frilly, pink apron, as confident in his masculinity as ever. “Come on in! I got a super sexy surprise for ya, if I do say so myself.”</p><p>“Zack…” Cloud growled in warning, really not in the mood for such games. “For fuck’s sake, how many times do I have to-”</p><p>“Cloud Strife! Language!” </p><p>All biting words dissolved on his tongue like honey in tea. </p><p>For there, leaning against his threshold, dressed in a simple denim dress and white apron, was Claudia Strife. </p><p>“M-mom?” he sputtered, rushing forward to absorb the burden of her weight. Beneath his hands, the bones of her forearms felt like twigs. “W-what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be- You <em> can’t </em> just-”</p><p>“I’m fineeee,” she insisted, eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile as she shoved Cloud back a foot to stop crowding her. “Doctors agreed I could use a change of scenery, so I took a cab here to surprise you with your favorite: shrimp and vegetable tempura!” </p><p>“And I’ll drive her back in an hour when I go meet Aerith at her mom’s place,” Zack butted in, placing a supportive hand on Claudia’s shoulder. “It’s a win-win-win! Especially the tempura eating part.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t have left,” Cloud insisted, shaking his head, horror seizing hold of his lungs. “Don’t you remember? Last time you-”</p><p>“Oh, shush now.” Tapping him on the cheek with a wooden spoon, Claudia proved her displeasure in the most typical of country-mother ways. “No one’s gonna shatter tonight, especially by making a simple dish for my favorite boys. Look at you! Practically skin and bones!” </p><p>“He’s a damn genetic marvel,” agreed Zack, chewing on a carrot that he had pulled from the front pocket of his fancy apron. “Honestly, the way he eats, he should be two, maybe three hundred pounds by now. Instead, I can practically do laundry on his stomach. Totally un-fucking-fair, ya know?”</p><p>She smacked both of them on the arms with the same spoon, jaw dropped in offense. “What potty mouths you two have grown! There’s a lady present.”</p><p>“Heh. You’re no <em> lady </em>, Claudia.” Zack winked, inspiring the older woman to giggle while Cloud barely suppressed a gag.</p><p>“As fun as it is for me to watch you mock-flirt, can we get inside and sit down please?” Dragging his mother by the arm as forcefully as he dared, he didn’t relent until she was lowered onto his desk chair; the only proper seat in the place. On a hotplate, a pot of oil was bubbling away next to a tray of battered vegetables and seafood. Without hesitation, Cloud scooped up the tongs and dropped the first six pieces into the basket before anyone could protest his involvement.</p><p>“More wine?” Zack asked, holding up an uncorked bottle.</p><p>Claudia, her papery, pale cheeks beaming, held up a disposable cup. “Of course!”</p><p>“You’re drinking, too? Mom!” Goddess almighty, she really was trying to give him a heart attack. “They said-”</p><p>“I <em> know </em> what they say, Cloud,” she interrupted, grin unyielding as Zack topped her off. “I hear it every day. Every hour, practically. Have I not earned one hour of fun after seven months on lockdown?” </p><p>Cloud tried to catch Zack’s eyes, to glean some support, but the guy seemed equally determined to ignore him. He should have known the two of them would form some sick sort of collusion, both cheerleaders for living life to the fullest no matter the consequences. There was no point in fighting. </p><p>An hour, she had asked for. Only an hour.  </p><p>With a groan of defeat, Cloud grabbed a roll of paper towels to line a plate while Zack, sitting cross-legged on the floor, continued to candidly converse with Claudia like they were college roommates. They discussed her newfound hobbies at the St-Lucretia treatment center, the latest best-selling novel and how it was overly-verbose, until, as was inevitable, their focus shifted to romance<em> . </em> </p><p>“I’m sorry to report that your son’s dry spell - well, more like a dry <em>era </em>by this point - continues,” Zack said with a tsk. “I practically had to drag him, kicking and screaming, onto a date with the cutest, most eligible woman on campus: Miss Raspberry. With the amount of complaining, you’d think I was pushing him to share a bed with a cactus.”</p><p>Claudia burst into giggles at the same time as Cloud winced. “Zack, can you <em> not </em>?”</p><p>“Not what? Do you think I’m alone on the ‘<em> Cloud needs to get some’ </em>mission?” He pointed an accusatory finger at the elder blonde, who was chuckling unabashedly by that point. “She’s worse than I am!”</p><p>“Well, it has been a while, my dear boy. Has it not?” The way his mother looked at him, with more genuine sympathy than teasing, was more than Cloud could handle. With a gruff breath, he turned his back on them to concentrate on the fry basket, silently but firmly declaring the subject closed.</p><p>Thankfully, Claudia knew exactly where, down to the millimeter, her son’s lines were drawn and never crossed them.       </p><p>“Speaking of ‘<em> making long overdue moves’, </em> ” she asked, expertly diverting the English-Lit teacher’s attention. <em> “ </em>When, exactly, are you going to pop the question to your lady friend?”.</p><p>“Oh, trust me, I’m working on it!” He assured, with gusto. “Just need a couple of more gil for the stone and Cloud’s...actually, I don’t know where Cloud is with the band. He never gives me any updates, just mutters ‘it’s coming’ every couple of days, which means Goddess-knows-what. And I-”</p><p>“Had you bothered to ask, I would have told you that I finished today.” One hand holding a plate of sizzling tempura with its bowl of dipping sauce, his other dug into his pant pocket, fished out the ring and tossed it over. “Jackass,” he couldn’t help but tag on.  </p><p>Zack caught the thing midair and laid it flat in his palm for his and Claudia’s inspection. Unexpectedly nervous, Cloud made himself a seat on the floor in front of them, sliding the plate onto the desk while awaiting review.  </p><p>There was no need to inform anyone that he had scavenged the silver from a cracked, antique bedpan. For, as unfamiliar as he was with the subject, he assumed it would probably ruin the ‘romance’.</p><p>“You made this, sweetheart?” Claudia asked with awe, shaking hands hovering over the delicate twists of silver vines and leaves, the empty grips in the center waiting to clutch a modest stone. “How striking<em> . </em> So organic looking! I had no idea you could do such intricate metalwork.” </p><p>“I didn’t either,” Cloud confessed with a self-deprecating chuckle. “If you like it, I can make you one too. Different design of course.”</p><p>“Oh darling, that’s so sweet of you. But there’s no point wasting decorations on this failing bag-of-bones.” </p><p>“Mom…don’t-”</p><p>“Let the record show,” Zack interrupted, determined to rescue the festive mood. “<em> I </em> had no doubt that he could pull it off.” </p><p>Rotating the piece for another viewing angle, Zack’s breath hitched upon finding the inscription that had been etched-in as a last second impulse. </p><p>“I can easily grind that out,” Cloud was quick to assure. “It was stupid. I just-”</p><p>“It’s fucking perfect, bro.” The man’s eyes were blatantly glistening by then.</p><p>Swallowing an urge to remind him of his disdain for the nickname, Cloud took a deep breath through his nose and nodded. “Good. I’m glad.”</p><p>“Ohh! This is so exciting!” Claudia wrapped a hand around the back of both their heads, pulling them into an uncomfortable though warm trio-hug. “A wedding! Maybe I’ll even get a pseudo-grandchild to spoil before I return to the planet, huh?”</p><p>“I’ll do my best, Claudia,” Zack said with a broken chuckle. Cloud didn’t respond. He couldn’t.</p><p>Before the situation grew more tender, there was a knock at the door. Cloud leapt towards the opportunity to escape. “Probably Barret needing help with their TV again,” he explained, sniffing away all traces of emotion. “I swear, that thing short-circuits twice a week.” </p><p>“Don’t expect us to wait for you!” Zack called, reaching for a piece of steaming, sweet potato and popping the whole thing into his mouth. Cloud didn’t bother hiding his smirk when the guy started sputtering on the much-too-hot food.</p><p>“What is it this-” The sentence died on his lips when faced with his new guest: the last person he would have expected to show up at his room, especially considering the late hour. </p><p>“Miss L-Lockhart?” he stammered, as if saying her name would confirm she was no illusion. </p><p>“Good evening, Mr. Strife.” </p><p>Those were the first words they had directly exchanged in days, though it felt more like months since their tense conversation in the hallway; when she had dared to assume he could be the male responsible for Ruvie Tuesti’s ‘delicate situation’.  </p><p>She wore her usual power-suit but in a shade of deep violet, with puffed, three-quarter sleeves and corset-like fastenings, pencil skirt flared at the hem. The ensemble was so very vibrant and bravely fashionable compared to the past weeks of straight lines, monochrome and accessories restricted to the school’s uninspired palette of emerald and gold. Even her hair was different, messily half-pinned up with a pencil, the remainder loose over her shoulders. On top of all that, for the first time, she wasn’t sporting the Goddess’ gold halo pin. </p><p>Something about the accessory’s lack made his mouth go dry. As if he was seeing her minus a modesty-enforcing, layer of armor. </p><p>“Sorry, I’m- I know it’s late,” she said, grinning shyly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”</p><p>“No!” he said with a, perhaps, embarrassing level of zeal. Stepping out into the hallway in his socks, Cloud ensured the door was closed firmly behind him. “Not at all. I was just...I thought you were Wallace.”</p><p>The corner of Tifa’s mouth twitched at that. “That’s probably the first time someone’s mixed the two of us up. Perhaps it’s time to renew your prescription?”</p><p>Chuckling, Cloud pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, his cheeks beginning to burn. In a good way for once. Something in her tone, perhaps due to them not being in the vicinity of the classrooms or students, was lighter than usual. Leaning more towards friendly teasing than the harsh reprimands he had grown accustomed to. “Noted. How can I help you, Headmistress?” </p><p> At the use of her formal title, she seemed to remember something and her spine grew rigid while shooting glances down the hall. Cloud was reminded that this level was indeed strictly for males. Though the executives surely had carte blanche, that wouldn’t salvage her reputation should someone witness her lingering outside an employee’s private room. </p><p>“Most of the staff are gone for the long weekend,” he was quick to assure, mourning the loss of the casual atmosphere. “You don’t have to worry.”  </p><p>“I’m not <em> worried, </em>” she insisted, even as her cheekbones flushed with color. “I, umm...I just wanted to let you know, educator to educator, that Ruvie Tuesti is going to be fine.”</p><p>At the summoning of such an uncomfortable subject, the source of so much recent stress, a lump so solid rose in his throat that it stole his ability to speak. Realizing this, Tifa pressed forward. </p><p>“I’m sorry to bring it up again and I understand you have an aversion to gossip, so I promise this is official intel and will be announced publicly sometime within the next few weeks. The baby’s father is another student and both families have come to an agreement that suits everyone involved.”</p><p>“Ms. Lockhart…” he warned once he regained control of his tongue. “I really don’t need to-”</p><p>“<em> I </em> needed you to know that you were right,” she pushed, shuffling a few inches closer, crimson eyes hard with determination. “The whole ‘lecherous faculty member’ angle was just a scandal gimmick to sell papers and boost ratings. To think, I was about to-”</p><p> Shaking her head, she huffed, fists clenching at her sides. The rare display of vulnerability again reminded him that she was the same girl who, at seventeen, had fearlessly climbed into his window the night before he left Nibelheim. The only person who bothered digging past a battalion’s worth of mental and physical barriers and proved to them both that he was more human than machine. The girl he had once, oh-so-briefly, thought he <em> loved </em>. </p><p>“Telling me about the upgrades to Ruvie’s car must have been hard for you,” she whispered after a long, tension-filled pause. “But it was enough to spur her to talk. You saved <em> everyone’s </em>jobs, mine included, probably. So...” She stared down at her feet, biting her lip while contemplating the words, cheeks becoming more red by the second. “As a thank you, I thought, if you’re free this weekend, that maybe we could-” </p><p>“<em> Clouuuuud! It’s gonna get coooold! </em>” His mother’s horrendously timed sing-song floated through the door behind his back. Cloud swore under his breath as Tifa, clearly flabbergasted, staggered as though the voice had shoved her. </p><p>“Oh! I didn’t know you had...company,” she said, unable or, perhaps, unwilling to hide the irritation in her voice. Whether because he was breaking the rules or because he proved to be unavailable, he would probably never know. </p><p>Cloud tried to salvage the moment, needing her to finish her sentence. <em> ‘Maybe we could-’ </em>what? WHAT!?</p><p>“It’s not what you think. That’s just my-”</p><p>Tifa held a hand up to stop him. “I don’t need to know the details, Mr. Strife. Have fun. I won’t file a report this time and you can consider us even from now on.”</p><p>“Wait. Please, Tifa-”</p><p>“Tifa!?” Yanking open the door, Claudia dove passed her son and had his boss in a gut-busting hug before either knew what was happening. “It <em> is </em>you! My dear, dear girl. I had no idea you worked here too!”</p><p>Over Claudia’s shoulder, Tifa stared at Cloud with wide, confusion-filled eyes before slowly but forcefully pushing the stranger away to see their face. </p><p>“Ms. Strife!” she exclaimed, a wide, genuine smile blossoming onto her lips for what Cloud deemed to be the first time all semester. “W-Wow. It’s been-”</p><p>“A long time,” Claudia finished, brazenly cupping the adult woman’s cheeks. “My, my, I didn’t think it was possible for you to get any more beautiful. Isn’t she <em> beautiful </em>, Cloud? ”     </p><p>Cloud choked on air while, in the distant background, Zack’s giggles haunted the exchange. </p><p>“And what <em> style. </em>” Taking a step back, the elder scanned Tifa’s perfectly fitted suit, shaking her head in awed disbelief. “Why, it’s like you’ve been plucked straight off a magazine cover. Though far too skinny! Please, you must join us for tempura and wine.”</p><p>“Mom!” Cloud scolded, eyes rolling heavenward. “This is the Headmistress of Midgar Preparatory. My <em> boss. </em>”</p><p>“So?” Claudia glared over her shoulder at her son, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Are you implying that powerful women don’t have <em> needs </em>?”</p><p>The woman was officially shameless. </p><p>“That wasn’t even close to...We don’t have-”</p><p>“Really...” Tifa protests piled upon his. “I have a ton of work, so-”</p><p>“Oh, now both of you, cut it out! It’s appetizers, not a cruise.” Without any more fanfare, Claudia gripped both of their sleeves and yanked them inside with a surprising amount of strength for someone in her condition. Honestly, Cloud wondered how she summoned it. Perhaps it was one of those<em> ‘desperate mother lifts car to save trapped baby’ </em> type of situations. </p><p>As Tifa paused to pull off her heels, she scanned the space floor to ceiling, and Cloud was made all too aware of a lack of decoration. Even after seven months, the room held only the bare essentials abandoned by his predecessor. Except for a few books piled on his desk and the scent of his mother’s cooking, it would have been easy to assume this place was unoccupied. </p><p>“Heya, Ms. Lockhart,” Zack greeted through an overstuffed mouth, waving towards the pile of what appeared to be every vegetable type on the planet, crispy golden and steaming. “Please, dig in! Claudia’s sauce is the stuff of legend. Though, sorry, Strife-the-loner here only has one freakin’ plate.” </p><p> “No one’s stopping you from littering your own carpet with crumbs, Zack,” Cloud muttered while sheepishly handing over a paper towel to Tifa. </p><p>“It’s fine. I get it.” She pinched a slice of zucchini off the offered plate. “My place is worse, believe it or not. The only item in my cupboard is a mug borrowed from the cafeteria.” </p><p>“You mean ‘stolen’ from the cafeteria?” Zack dared to correct with a cocked eyebrow. “How scandalous!”</p><p>Claudia chuckled while gingerly lowering herself onto the edge of the bed. “Ooo. Office intrigue. I love it!”</p><p>“Knock it off, you two.” Sliding the desk chair closer, Cloud gestured for Tifa to sit, which she did after nabbing a few dips of the sauce. </p><p>“For your information, Mr. Fair, if one intends to return the equipment post-use and it remains on campus, then ‘borrowing’ is indeed a legally appropriate term.” Her tone may have been the same, firm authoritarian one used within the school halls, but the upturned corner of her lip implied a wholly different sentiment. “I simply haven’t finished ‘using’ it yet.”</p><p>“On campus. You mean you live here? In this building?” Zack’s neck swung towards Cloud as if to ensure he absorbed this most-intriguing of tidbits. Cloud, justifiably, pretended he didn’t exist.</p><p>“Yes. I mean, I know it’s not <em> standard </em>for the Head of School to remain in residence. I didn’t want to go into debt living on the plate or deal with a long commute. Seemed to make sense.”</p><p>“So you’re below us on the female-only, not the family floor, right?” Zack pushed. </p><p>“Yessss,” Tifa answered suspiciously, brows cinched. </p><p>“Which must mean you’re not engaged or living with anyone or-”</p><p>“Zack,” Cloud cut him off. “Stop being such a-”</p><p>“A <em> what? </em> I’m just trying to get to know our boss a little better and encourage a more open work environment. Exccccuusee me for being progressive.”</p><p>“What you’re being is inappropriate.” Catching Tifa’s eye, he mouthed ‘<em> sorry’, </em>to which she raised a hand to her mouth to shield a giggle.  </p><p>“I’ll let Lockhart be the judge of that. Headmistress? A verdict, if you please?”</p><p>Still chuckling beneath her palm, Tifa side-eyed Cloud and shrugged. “Though I appreciate your open-mindedness, Mr. Fair, for the sake of professionalism, perhaps we should draw the line at discussing relationships?” </p><p> “Fine. Fine! I suppose you make the rules. Literally. Speaking of appropriate...” Zack gestured to Claudia, who was pouring a more-than-generous portion of wine in a new paper cup. Meanwhile, Cloud settled into the carpet and tried not to feel envious of his friend’s flawless social skills. Considering that most of <em> his </em>interactions with the Headmistress ended with them snapping at one another, he didn’t dare open his mouth this time. Not when Tifa seemed so atypically at ease for once. </p><p>After a few seconds of internal debate, soon enough Tifa was accepting the wine with a modest ‘thanks’ before leaning back into the chair, her stockinged foot tapping along to the music. Again, Zack met Cloud’s eyes, grinning like he had just proved something long debated. </p><p>So their boss was willing to break a few, innocuous rules. It didn’t mean anything. For all they knew, a deeply ingrained need to respect Nibelheim’s elders simply overshadowed all other etiquette.</p><p>“These are fantastic, Claudia. Perfectly crisp. And the sauce...Mmm!” Tifa groaned in pleasure. The sound made something spark in Cloud’s head and he had to fold his knees up to his chest, running through a practiced series of images guaranteed to help him calm down. “Reminds me of home.”</p><p>“Thank you, dear Tifa. Though I cannot take all the credit. The produce is from Aerith.”</p><p>“You mean our Medic, Ms. Gainsborough?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Zack sat up straighter at the mere mention of her name. “She volunteers at this run-down temple in the Sector 5 slums. They let her use the back lot to grow things with and for the local orphans and hospitals. Every Saturday, all Saturday, without fail, she tends to it. She’s just soooo perf-...a very, uhh...she’s a generous person.” </p><p>Wisely, he cut himself off there, remembering his audience at the last second. If Tifa chose, she could make life very difficult for them. The no-relationships-between-staff rule was an especially taboo one. </p><p>Then again, as Cloud watched the Headmistress take a deep gulp of cheap wine, staining the corners of her mouth purple, he realized that she was far from calling security on this illicit gathering. </p><p>This time at least. </p><p>“Oh, I used to love this song!” Tifa exclaimed as the radio switched tunes. In solidarity, Zack turned it up a few notches. </p><p>“<em> Midgar Blues </em>?” he determined after a couple of bars. “Huh. Wouldn’t have pegged you as such a cheese-ball romantic.”</p><p>“Oh, I am. Or I used to be, I suppose. All Senior year of highschool, I’d just play this on repeat in my room for hours. Drove my father crazy.”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Oh Midgar, Midgar, city that's always on my mind </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For Midgar, Midgar, I left my one true love behind’ </em>
</p><p>A hush fell over the group as the ballad permeated both the space and their very bones. </p><p>Cloud had never bothered listening to lyrics. Music had never been more than background to even out the roar of competing power tools. But Tifa revealing that she had listened to this her Senior year, a poignant year in his life as well, made him want to pay attention.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Our parting words never said, only to be washed away </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Swept up and lost in the stream of life’ </em>
</p><p>All his musings were interrupted when Claudia let out a raspy cough. One which, within a few seconds of throat clearing and sputtering, quickly became chest-wracking heaves that forced her to fold over and claw at her dress collar. </p><p>“Mom!” Jumping to his feet, Cloud rushed over to thump upon her back.</p><p>Zack similarly leapt into action. “Where’s her stuff?”</p><p>“Purse,” Cloud said, not letting up the smacks and then circular massages along her spine, trying his best not to let his absolute panic show as her breathing grew shallow and strained. “Seven milliliters.”     </p><p>“On it.”</p><p>
  <em> ‘You and me girl — watching and wishing </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We both burned so very bright — brighter than the sun’ </em>
</p><p>While Zack dug into the rainbow, crochet bag hanging on the back of the door, Tifa knelt in front of Claudia with a stack of paper towels ready in her hands. Cloud didn’t question how she knew what to do, was just grateful for any help. </p><p>“Spit it out if you can, Ms. Strife,” she instructed, placing a reassuring hand on the side of the older woman’s head as it shook through heaves. When she did, the whole scalp of flaxen-haired slid sideways. If this shocked Tifa, she didn’t show it. Without missing a beat, she straightened the wig in a disguised stroke for comfort, aiming not to embarrass her. </p><p> “Here.” Zack arrived at the bedside holding a syringe, filled nearly all the way to the plunger with shimmering green liquid. </p><p>
  <em> ‘I can't see the stars no more — but they still fall’ </em>
</p><p>“That’s too much!” Cloud growled, yanking it out of his friends’ hand. Holding it up to the light and tapping any air bubbles to the surface, he prepared to dispose of the excess. </p><p>“Label says nine point five per dose,” Zack assured, holding the vial up for review. “Doctors must have upped it recently.”</p><p>“Dammit.” Nothing good ever came out of a dose that high. It meant options were running out. </p><p>“Good. That’s good Ms. Strife!” Tifa encouraged as a large glob of black and red speckled phlegm slipped out of her mouth along with a whimper. “Keep it up!”</p><p>“Hold her still, guys.” Without any more ado, after Tifa clamped onto Claudia’s shoulders and Zack her legs, Cloud grabbed his mother’s arm, yanked up the denim sleeve and slid the needle into the most prominent vein near her inner elbow. </p><p>
  <em> ‘Electricity — oh how the sparks would fly’ </em>
</p><p>She spasmed when he began pushing the plunger, but Zack and Tifa were prepared and held her as still as possible. He knew the mako burned when it went in. Oh, did he know how it burned. </p><p>“You’re gonna be fine, Mom,” he promised, careful to keep his voice as steady and confident as possible. “Just another few seconds, and you’ll be fine.”</p><p>In the end, it took several minutes. </p><p>Her breathing and whimpers grew deeper, slower. Her limbs stopped trembling. A few more globs were spat up, more black than any other color. Finally, as slowly a morning glory unfurled its petals, as the mako forced her cells to pause their rotting for just a little while longer, she floated on back to them. Or at least a mortified, broken version of her came back.  </p><p>“I-I’m ssso so sorry, Cla-Cloud,” she stuttered between hoarse breaths, looking up at her son with eyes that glowed green like those of the Goddess herself. “You-You were right. I shouldn’t...shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t <em> ever </em>-”</p><p>“Don’t worry about that.” Cupping the back of her neck, he leaned down to place a kiss on her sweat-soaked forehead, lingering there for a perhaps unseemingly number of seconds as he tried to wrangle a stampede of thoughts. “It was so good to see you. But Zack’s going to take you home now. Okay?”</p><p>“Home,” Claudia repeated with a sigh so full of longing it broke his heart. “That place...St-Lucretia...it’s not <em> home </em>, Cloud.”</p><p>“I know, Mom.” Glancing up at his colleagues standing in his dim, spartan apartment on the outskirts of nowhere, faces filled with pity, Tifa clutching the soiled paper towels in her fist, Cloud had never felt more alone. “I know.”</p><p>The song had long since been cut, the first thing Zack did was switch the radio off after the worst was passed. Still, it lingered in the air like a bad smell.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Oh Midgar, Midgar, city that's always on my mind </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For Midgar, Midgar, I left my one true love behind’ </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p><b>**Author’s Note**</b> : MERRY CHRISTMAS, FELLOW CLOTIS! Meant to post this last night but got distracted with last minute gift wrapping and trying to nibble carrots in just the right way that it looks like deer did it lol. Also, in past weeks I went on a random, smutty tangent with <em> The Curriculum: Extracurriculars </em> . Please check it out if you need a break from the painfully “slow roast” of this one! Glad to finally be arriving at the second phase of the typical <em> enemies </em> to <em> friends </em> to <em> lovers </em>trope. Thanks again for your continued support and, as always, I truly appreciate and am fueled by your comments &amp; kudos. Happy Holidays. </p><p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Humanities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Studies the history and development of human thought and culture. By focusing on literature, history, philosophy, art and film, humanities courses seek a broad and interconnected understanding of the human experience.” </em>
</p><p>[ : <b>The Curriculum</b> : ]</p><p>Chapter 7 | Humanities</p><p>After settling Claudia into the back seat of Zack’s sedan, tucking a spare blanket around her hips and pressing a kiss onto her wig, Cloud returned home to the strangest of sights.</p><p>Headmistress Lockhart was washing his dishes. </p><p>Gone was the prim, high-collared blazer and the pencil which had pinned up her hair. She now donned his mother’s apron to protect her silk, slip-top from errant fry-oil, slingback heels still propped beside his loafers on the doormat, dark hair gathered into a loose braid down her back. The tableau was one of such classic domesticity that, for a moment, he was tempted to call out <em> ‘honey, I’m home!’ </em> like some tawdry sitcom character. </p><p>Alas, Cloud didn’t have the energy let alone bravery for such teasing. Instead, he meandered about the room, collecting paper cups and other litter scattered about. Upon tossing a handful of paper towels into the trash, his eye was drawn to a tissue streaked with something viscous and black. It was the one Tifa had held to his mother’s lips as she coughed up a blockage.  </p><p>It was getting worse. </p><p>“My mother had it too.” </p><p>Glancing up, he noted her hunched shoulders as she rubbed a dish towel round and round in the pot. Not yet trusting himself to speak, Cloud sat on the edge of his bed, clutching the trash bin. Waiting. </p><p>“She’d had chest pains and seizures for over a year, but it wasn’t until the black spots appeared on her neck that they figured it out.” She paused to take a staggered breath, trying not to become ensnared in such horror-laced memory. “It was too late. Doctors in Nibelheim weren’t equipped to manage such an aggressive form of Geostigma. She...she returned to the planet a few weeks later.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Cloud offered with as much genuine sympathy as he could muster. </p><p>Tifa shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”</p><p>The pot was clean - cleaner even - than it had been prior to Claudia getting her hands on it. Tifa placed it on the hotplate before swiveling around, leaning on her hands which were gripping the counter edge. Had their roles been reversed, Cloud would have taken this strained silence as an opportunity to leave. Hell, most people would have departed long before, while he half-carried his mother to the car, goodbyes be damned.</p><p>Yet she remained.  </p><p>Headmistress Lockhart was infamously stubborn, he was reminded, feeling the heat of her gaze on him and he stared into the abyss of the trash bin. </p><p>Something had shifted between them this evening. He could sense it like the pressure drop before a storm. Her coming here - her <em> staying </em> - couldn’t just be about reassuring an employee.  </p><p>This was...something else. </p><p>“It started three years ago,” Cloud blurted just as the air started to feel thick and difficult to breathe through, like syrup. “I was finishing my Masters and met Zack in an English-as-a-second-language teaching elective. The plan was to travel for a gap-year, touring international schools to pay our way, and I’d return for a doctorate in alternative energy research while he became a freelance poet or something equally insane.  Then Mom got diagnosed and...”</p><p>After he trailed off, Tifa nodded as she removed and folded Claudia’s apron, allowing Cloud time to calm the impotently spinning wheels of his thoughts. Soon she was gliding closer, settling sideways on the desk chair where her blazer hung off the back. He caught a glimpse of an encouraging smile and the thin, loose straps of her slip falling off one shoulder before averting his gaze. </p><p>“Obviously, the world-travel plans were put on hold. Zack took this teaching job just to build a gil cushion but then he, umm...he met...someone. Someone special. And all our plans just…” Sighing wearily, Cloud’s attention was drawn to the half-empty bottle of wine still sitting on his desk. He had many reasons to avoid drinking but tonight seemed to be a night of exceptions. Grabbing it by the neck, he took a swig straight from the bottle and then held it up in offering without daring to meet Tifa’s eyes, just in case they were full of judgement. </p><p>Instead, all he saw were burgundy-painted nails sliding above his as she accepted. </p><p>Claudia would be glad to know it didn’t go to waste. </p><p>“At your assessment interview my first week, I asked what brought you to teaching here.” She paused to swallow a hearty gulp, knowing but seemingly no longer caring that this whole scene was definitely beyond the scope of ‘professional’. “You never really answered, did you?” </p><p>Smirking, Cloud finally found the courage to look up. Swishing the bottle of wine, chin hooked onto the chairback and minus the brand of that stupid halo brooch, it was as though he were looking at a famed mascot without a costume. Her informality inspired him to try and explain the dire circumstances which chained him - an atheist with a clear distaste for ceremony - to the hallowed halls of Midgar Preparatory. </p><p>“Initially, I grabbed the highest-paying job I could get at the weapons branch of Shinra corp. The hours and expectations were impossible. Benefits: shit. Not to mention the whole, demoralizing <em> ‘how can we kill people more efficiently?’ </em>goal.” Sliding off the bed and onto the floor, he swiped the bottle and took another swig, relishing the compiled bitterness on his tongue. “I hardly saw Mom and was barely making payments on her useless treatments and bills back in Nibleheim. Zack, on the other hand, was getting more and more comfortable. No rent or food expenses, good-enough pay, unique medical benefits, a growing pension. When the Industrial Arts job opened up last summer and they seemed desperate enough to interview anyone, it was a no-brainer to try.”</p><p>“You get to fiddle with machines at least,” she acknowledged with a sad little smile. “And priority placement at the St-Lucretia Healing Center...they’re the only facility running mako treatment trials for Geostigma, correct? I read that some fusions are looking promising.”</p><p>Cloud mirrored her hopeful, desperate expression, knowing what she was thinking and needing to nip it in the bud. “All mako’s been proven to do is give failing organs a boost. Like a stick trying to support a crumbling wall. It doesn’t cure anything, it doesn’t last and the side effects are…” he let the sentence drop, unsure if a word existed for such torment. “Point being: there was nothing you could have done to save your mother.” </p><p>“Yeah.” She curled her legs beneath her on the chair. “I know.”</p><p>They sat in silence for a minute longer, idly handing the bottle back and forth like it was a ‘talking stick’ prop from group therapy. From this low angle and in her new position, the slit of her skirt stretched wide, revealing a glimpse of thigh-high stockings held up by rainbow-colored, glittery garters. As much as the sight injected him with liquid heat, it also made him want to chuckle at her sneakiness. </p><p>Underneath it all, she was still the same colorful, sassy, uninhibited girl from Nibelheim. </p><p>Because of course she was. </p><p>Taking a gulp of dregs, Tifa found the will to continue at the bottle’s bottom. “I threatened to cut your class next year and you said you didn’t care...is that because…?” </p><p>“Because my benefits won’t matter next year.” Tsking, Cloud ripped his glasses off and tossed them on the nightstand so that he could rub both hands down his face. “Doctors tell me her lungs are basically a swamp. They cut out as much degradation as they could but it keeps spreading. She only has a couple more weeks left. At most.” </p><p>Tossing his head back to glare at the ceiling, one of Cloud’s hands wandered behind his ear and unconsciously traced the puckered scar hidden there. He had always been a lightweight and already, clearly, the alcohol was loosening his tongue. Not even Zack knew such details on Claudia’s condition, even though he sometimes manned the caregiver torch on the rare weekend Cloud couldn’t stomach a visit. “I sometimes wonder if it’s worth it,” he muttered with the slightest of slurs. “What’s the point of all that pain, just to delay the inevitable?”</p><p>Tifa didn’t have an answer. </p><p>He hadn’t expected her to. Instead, she leaned over to grab the almost empty bottle and placed it on the desk out of reach. As though it were the car-keys of a friend who had imbibed too much at a party.</p><p>How fucking depressing. </p><p>He wouldn’t have put it past her to run out of the room with a newfound existential crisis. That was just to sort of ‘good-time’ he had always been. </p><p>“Well, this is fucking depressing,” Tifa muttered with a gruff breath, unknowingly repeating his exact thoughts. </p><p>He was again reminded of the short summer they had spent together as teens and how she always seemed to know exactly what was on his mind, even if all he outwardly showed was a blank stare. Not to mention, hearing her cuss as an adult was a whole other level of amusing. </p><p>It couldn’t be helped. Against all reason, Cloud started to smile. Genuinely smile. In another couple of seconds, he was laughing. </p><p>“You always did have the strangest sense of humor, Strife.” One stocking-clad foot reached out to poke at his knee, making him chuckle even harder until she could not help but join in. </p><p>Both sensing and encouraging a break in the storm, it was silently agreed upon to change the subject. Claudia’s impending demise, though heart-wrenching, was also inspiring: a reminder that they only had one life to live and it best be enjoyed to its fullest. To a respectable extent, of course. </p><p>“Moving on! I gotta ask now before I lose my nerve,” she began between bubbling giggles, eyes shining in a way that proved she too wasn't entirely sober. “What is <em> up </em>with all the blue shirts? Is that seriously the only color you own?”</p><p>Still tittering, he nodded, extra amused by the confirmation that she kept tabs on his outfits for reasons other than just to enforce dress code.  </p><p>“It is indeed. Mom said it suits me and I’m too lazy to explore other options,” he explained, very much aware of how strange his reasons were. “It’s my...<em> lucky </em> color. I suppose.”</p><p>At that word - <em> lucky </em> - Tifa bit her lip and averted her gaze to the carpet. It hadn’t been his intention to refer to the red undergarments she had once claimed had similar powers. Or maybe he had. His brain had grown some sort of fuzzy coating, like mold on overripe fruit, all but obliterating his usual filter.</p><p>He had worn a similarly shaded button-down, for the first time, the night of the Graduate’s Dance. The night she had climbed the water tower and enthusiastically claimed whatever remained of his innocence. She had also once told him that such shades brought out the vivid, aquamarine of his eyes; a feature many claimed to be unique and captivating while the rest of him, in his summation at least, was the human equivalent that tarnished, old bedpan used to make Aerith’s engagement ring. </p><p>Whatever. Tonight was not about self-pity. Her staying behind, her helping and breaking the rules for him, it meant something. It meant, perhaps, that they were on their way to becoming something more than just a reluctant employee and an overbearing employer. </p><p>Oh how, more than anything, did he wish for that.</p><p>“What about you?” He waved around the hem of her purple skirt. “The woman whose wardrobe is usually fifty shades of grey, beige and orthodox?” </p><p>“Well, that’s an entirely different story. Do you think I <em> enjoy </em> dressing like a sixty-year-old librarian?” Though said with a laugh, Cloud could sense some true discomfort behind the question. “As Headmistress, I’m expected to be both a school representative <em> and </em> a Temple one. Scarlet Saber made that very clear within my first hour on the job. I can’t just...” She shook her head, unwilling to expand upon a subject that had the same downer potential as dead or dying parents. “I’m still figuring things out around here. Testing the waters of what’s acceptable to the Board’s and Primar Domino’s lofty expectations while still being...me. Ya know?”</p><p>“Yeah. I know. I mean, I understand.”</p><p>Without any direction from his muddled brain, Cloud’s eyes again shifted to the slit in her skirt, where the stocking edge cut into the meat of her thigh. Those ostentatious, rainbow garters were such a silly little rebellion, unbeknownst to anyone but her and the rare, lucky person who had the honor of seeing her with her shoes kicked off and defenses down.</p><p>He wondered if the rest of the lingerie set matched. Or maybe it was red, like it had been the last time she visited his room back in Nibelheim: a tangible representation of her wish that his fingers and, eventually, his mouth would wander beneath that skirt and make her forget, if only for a moment, all her stresses.  </p><p>He wondered if she still tasted the same. </p><p>Suddenly, like the Planet’s tectonic plates, his properties violently shifted. The resulting quakes of desire were so pointed that he let out an involuntary wince, sitting up straighter and folding his knees up to his chest. </p><p>His body always did have epicly <em> shitty </em>timing. </p><p>“Mr. Strife?” Tifa asked, concern etching her features as she leaned closer. Close enough that he could smell spice-satsuma and wondered if she still wore the stuff or was his imagination conjuring phantom, sense-memories. </p><p>“I’m okay,” he insisted, feeling his hairline prickle with a light sweat. “I get these...migraines, sometimes. It’ll pass.”</p><p> “Oh. Sorry! I guess...I suppose I should...” Jumping to her feet, Tifa yanked her jacket off the chair back, punched her arms through the sleeves and pulled closed the corset-like fastenings. Another memory assaulted him of her tying the bodice laces of a teal dress with similar desperation as his mother marched up the stairs to his room, seconds from catching them in the lewdest of acts.  </p><p>It made everything hurt so much worse. But in a good way for once. Good enough that the mortification was overshadowed by <em> need. </em></p><p>“See you at tomorrow’s Temple service?” When Cloud’s eyes opened, Tifa was already by the door shoving a shoe onto her foot. “Oh, wait. You don’t go to those, right? I suppose...I mean, since I don’t have much to do this long weekend, maybe I could help you write that syllab-”</p><p>“Sure. Fine. Just...send me a memo.” He managed a shaky little wave as she opened the door to let herself out. “I’ll keep on top of them for once. I promise.”</p><p>She froze at that vow, lips slowly curving upward into her most brilliant smile yet. “Alright. Goodnight then, Cloud.”</p><p>Cloud. Not Mr. Strife. <em> Cloud. </em></p><p>The innocuous name rattled inside his head, causing more havoc than the Temple bells had or would ever invoke. It made him calm down for long enough that he could locate his tongue and catch her just before she shut the door. </p><p>“Tifa?”</p><p>“Hmm?” She poked her head back in through the gap. “Did I forget something?”</p><p>“No. I just want- I wanted to…” Running a hand through his hair, he glanced around his studio unit. The tiny space was as spartan and drab as always and yet the chair she had just vacated seemed somehow sturdier. The pot she had cleaned, sparkling. Even the coarse mat by the door, still imprinted by her heels, appeared as downy soft as chocobo feathers.</p><p>“Thank you. For everything, lately. The air conditioners. Increasing my class budget. Ruvie. My Mom. You-” He swallowed, requiring a moment to translate sentiments into sentences. “I guess, in summary, this place is...it’s better with you here. The school, I mean. So...thank you.”</p><p>Her response was but a brief nod and, though he couldn’t be sure without his glasses, a new, thicker shine seemed to sparkle in her carmine eyes. Then, as if she could no longer trust herself to speak, she carefully closed the door behind her, the click of the latch echoing throughout the space.</p><p>Cloud was on his feet not five seconds later.</p><p>In the bathroom, he blasted the shower at a temperature enjoyed only by polar bears before undoing his belt and kicking off his pants as though they were infested with ants. When his aching erection sprang free, he could only groan at it in annoyance, like it was the equivalent of a second parking ticket received within the span of a week.</p><p>Stepping into the tub, he let the frigid water beat upon his chest and waited for it to work it’s magic. When that failed, he tried revisiting the many terse, awkward conversations he had shared with Lockhart prior to this evening: a usually sure-fire way of getting his blood to rush elsewhere. </p><p>How she had labelled his class mere <em> ‘blue-collar work of no interest to the elite students of Midgar Prep’ </em> during their initial assessment meeting. That one had stung. </p><p>How on any given day his memo-box was filled with more of her violet-colored nagging than actual announcements. <em> ‘Despite your apparent best efforts, this isn’t farmland. Jeans are inappropriate on campus, even on days you don’t have a class’.  </em></p><p>How the glimpse of thigh revealed tonight through her skirt slit appeared just as toned, smooth and inviting as ever. <em> ‘She runs 5k and does yoga every morning at dawn!’ </em> Yuffie, her assistant, had once complained. Those efforts clearly led to triumphant results.</p><p>How she had supported his mother’s episode without one stitch of disgust, on her knees with a handful of paper towels at the ready. ‘<em> Spit it out if you can, Ms. Strife.’ </em> Certainly anyone else would have run away screaming.  </p><p>How she had stayed to wash the dishes. </p><p>How that corset-like jacket cradled her breasts. </p><p>Breath beginning to hasten, Cloud slammed a fist into the tile and leaned his forehead against it, squeezing his eyes shut while trying to summon any other discouraging images. The glacial water had exhausted its element of surprise, so he blindly reached for the taps to turn it to something more tepid. As the warm water glided down his bare back, buttox and legs, he couldn’t help but imagine it was her hands.</p><p><em> “Sshit,” </em>he hissed, biting down onto his forearm, on the cusp of sobbing.</p><p>Maybe this whole ‘ignore it’ vow was impossible; a mad declaration by an ego attempting to deny he was a human male with needs. Deny that he was still heinously attracted to her. Afraid that it would make their interactions even more problematic. </p><p>As if anything could get more problematic than <em> this </em>?</p><p>Maybe just once. Just to get it out of his system. </p><p>It’s not like anyone would ever know. </p><p>With a defeated groan, his free hand reached down to grip himself, dismantling the mental blockade, brick-by-brick, which restrained an ocean’s worth of sordid memories and fantasies. </p><p>He hadn’t (consciously) done this often. Probably fewer times than the number of years he’d been alive, which was immensely unhealthy according to Zack. The guy had once drunkenly bragged about a marathon in his teens, with only an old catalogue for inspiration, that had resulted in seven explosions in a row. </p><p><em> ‘Dude. You gotta think of it like...changing the oil in a car!’ </em> his much-too-open friend had insisted between whiskey shots at Midgar University’s least popular watering hole. <em> ‘If you don’t drain the pipes every once in a while, the whole system is at risk of total breakdown, ya know?’  </em></p><p>Fine. Agreed. Once certainly couldn’t hurt. </p><p>Just this once. </p><p>Even as he began pumping in a pleasurable rhythm as old as time, Cloud was reminded of his distaste for the practice. Relieving though it may be, to him it was just a boring, standard maintenance procedure as Zack had described. </p><p>But if masturbating was an oil change, then being with Tifa was riding a Hardy-Daytona; it’s engine revving hot and fierce between his legs, feeling all at once unstoppable, relentless and free.</p><p>Alone in the shower, he huffed against the tiles, forehead rolling along his arm. </p><p>For the first time in a long while, he let himself <em> consider </em>. </p><p>Not the young girl in the teal dress, grasping the rocket-ship sheets in his mom’s house, but the woman in the purple power-suit with the corner of her lips stained from cheap wine. He <em> considered </em>what would have happened if he had the gall to reach across those mere two feet between them and cup her knees, gently easing them apart. How her initial gasps of surprise would quickly convert to a whole other sort as her fingers clenched the skirt fabric and slid it up, exposing those stupid rainbow-sparkle garters and beyond. Offering herself. Inch by glorious inch. </p><p>He imagined removing the accessories with his teeth. He imagined his hands sliding beneath her ass to hitch her up onto the desk before falling to his knees between her open legs. He could practically hear the furniture hitting the wall as she swiveled her hips against his face in rhythm with his tongue, her curses of ecstasy, the scent of spice and sex. </p><p>And as his fantasy boss tightened and wailed, forehead dripping sweat, burgundy nails digging into his scalp to the point of pain, Cloud found what he had been searching for this entire semester in those overly-bright, carmine eyes. </p><p>“<em> Fuck </em>!” Wincing, he came - hard - in his hand, hips bucking with every spurt. </p><p> It had indeed been too long and his body seemed adamant on making up for sessions skipped. His legs started shaking, barely able to hold him up as he emptied himself dry. By the time it was over, he was sucking in huge, lung-rattling gulps of air between chuckles, impressed with the efficiency of his conjured vision.</p><p>In those few, admittedly mind-blowing but shameful strokes, Cloud had made his professional life infinitely more complicated.</p><hr/><p>Over the following twenty-four hours, Cloud checked his PHS inbox more times than he had in the entire last month. </p><p>He checked it as soon as he woke up. </p><p>He checked it when the bells for Temple service rang. </p><p>He checked it while eating a back-of-the-fridge lunch of soda and toast that required a slight scraping-off of mold. </p><p>He even checked it in the middle of his late-evening shower, scrambling for the device left on the kitchenette counter as soon as he heard it ping, naked and dripping soap suds onto the carpet. </p><p>The alert was indeed a memo from the Headmistress, he was thrilled to discover as he tiptoed back into the bathroom to fetch a towel. </p><p>However, his expression fell upon realizing it was a mass one with over thirty staffers cc’ed; a schedule and rules list for those wrangled into chaperoning the Winter Ball. Apparently, they were also expected to help decorate and set up the whole day prior, likely thanks to the strict budgets Tifa enforced on all the school’s previously lavish events. Scoffing, Cloud tossed the phone onto the vanity before returning to his shower, sensing that whatever nostalgic affections they had unearthed last night were already fading from exposure.</p><p>Maybe it had all been in his head. Maybe the Headmistress really was just trying to be a supportive boss or maybe, worst case, she was collecting a slew of evidence with which to secure his dismissal.  </p><p>When his phone pinged again, he ignored it, concentrated on rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, in no rush to discover he was being conscripted into making paper-mâché hearts or something equally tedious.</p><p>It was a full hour later, after finalizing his notes on Septina’s app-controlled wardrobe system, that he dared to glance at his inbox again, where there indeed was another message from Headmistress Lockhart. Sighing in exasperation, he opened it, expecting the same lengthy list of colleagues cc’ed at the header. This time, however, his was the only name gracing the ‘to:’ form. Sitting up straighter at his desk, Cloud gulped, hit by a swell of annoyance that he had left the note stewing a whole <em>goddamn</em> <em>hour!</em></p><p>Without any more fanfare, he read. </p><p>
  <em> Mr. Strife, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Apologies for the delay in reaching out. Organizing the Winter Ball is proving to be quite the juggling act. I almost regret firing that obscenely paid event-planner my predecessor used. Oh well.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Did you still need some assistance writing your course syllabus? The curriculum binder is starting to fill out nicely and I look forward to your contribution prior to publishing. I can spare a few hours tomorrow (Sunday) evening, if you’d like?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Headmistress Lockhart</em>
</p><p>Hiding a grin beneath his hand, Cloud read the message one more time before frantically typing a response. Careful to keep in mind that these memos could be monitored by any nosy Board member. </p><p>
  <em> Ms. Lockhart,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you for your generous offer but, regrettably, I have (rare) plans. Per tradition, Mr. Fair and I use long weekend Sundays to…. </em>
</p><p>It took a couple of beats for him to translate<em> ‘get shitfaced’ </em> into something more palatable.</p><p> <em>...catch up on grading.</em></p><p>Pausing again, Cloud realized that there was no safe way to describe Zack’s <em> ‘There, Their, They’re’ </em> evenings. Especially in writing on an official system.</p><p>Thus, he chose to conclude the message with a simple:</p><p>
  <em> My PHS number is 555-707-2003. Text me?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Mr. Strife</em>
</p><p>Heart in his throat, he hit send. </p><p>Thankfully, he didn’t have to marinate very long. Within less than a minute, his phone chimed with a direct message from an unknown number instead of a memo. </p><p><em> ‘Didn’t want to confess any unsavory shenanigans on the school system, huh?’ </em> she guessed, making him chuckle out loud. </p><p>‘<em> I promise, we’re not *that* bad. Just that grading sixty variations of the same paper can get tedious, according to Zack. So he tries to make things more...interesting.’ </em></p><p>‘<em> Interesting? So I assume alcohol is involved?’ </em></p><p>Again, Cloud laughed. Without even having spent much time with the guy, she had him squarely pegged. <em> ‘Most likely. Not for me anymore, as I swore off the hard stuff a while back. It’s mainly just an excuse for us to blow off steam and attack any tasks we’ve been procrastinating on.’ </em></p><p>
  <em> ‘Sounds fun. Enjoy! Friendly reminder that I’d still like to have your syllabus by the end of Spring Break. Please.’ </em>
</p><p>As the message had taken a full two minutes to come through, Cloud’s cheeks started to hurt in an overdrawn smile as he read. He imagined her agonizing over the wording, genuinely trying to balance friendly inclinations with employer ones. It made his heart balloon with such affection that he didn’t even consider the repercussions before typing:</p><p>
  <em> ‘Want to join us?’ </em>
</p><p>Instantly, probably without any forethought of her own, he received her reply. Twas’ the most beautiful image to have ever brightened his cracked screen. </p><p>
  <em> ‘I’d love to!’ </em>
</p><hr/><p>“I don't know whether to give you a high five or slap you upside the head,” Zack growled as he unloaded the trunk of his tan sedan that Sunday afternoon. Cloud had texted him with an update as soon as Tifa accepted the invitation, the potential awkwardness having not yet occurred to him. </p><p>A slew of random symbols in place of words had been the extent of Zack’s commentary. Until now. </p><p>“I can’t believe you invited the boss to our most depraved evening of the semester.”</p><p>“It’s <em> your </em> most depraved evening, not mine anymore,” he reminded the guy, reaching in to grab a potted plant meant to join hundred others stuffed into the medic’s office. “You saw how Lockhart was with Mom. I swear, she’s not as stuck-up as she seems. She’s just...careful.” </p><p>“I’m sure she is,” Zack agreed begrudgingly, slamming the trunk closed with his foot. “In my books, she’ll always be a Gods-damn miracle worker for inspiring you to act like a dude with functional parts for once, even if it was a decade ago. Or twice, was it? No wait, you got Claudia-blocked mid-slide into third base that second time, right?”</p><p>“It-It’s not like that anymore.” Hiding his blush behind the plant’s leaves, Cloud followed his friend up the faculty residence staircase. He never would remember exactly how many details off his pathetic sexual resume Zack had managed to wrangle over the course of many <em> ‘There, Their, They’re’ </em>evenings past, but it was definitely too much. “Just try to think of her like any other overly stressed colleague in a tight spot. I figured why not throw her a bone?”</p><p> “Heh. You throw her all the bones you want, bro. Turn this place into a veritable <em> bone- </em>yard and you’ll have my full, enthusiastic support!”</p><p>Cloud grimaced, reminded of how crass the guy was on a regular basis, let alone inebriated. “Promise me you’ll get this out of your system before tonight? Or maybe go light on the game?”</p><p>“No can do!” Shifting his navy duffle bag onto his other shoulder, Cloud could hear the tell-tale clink of multiple glass bottles. It may as well have been the knoll of his funeral bells. When they arrived at the female-only, second floor, Zack deposited a smaller, pink bag just inside the hallway and gestured for Cloud to similarly place the plant. Aerith would collect the items soon, once her bus arrived, as they always traveled separately to and from the city so as not to rouse suspicion.  “Need I remind you: the time-honored tradition of <em> ‘Their. There. They’re’ </em> demands sacrificing one’s filters. It’s how we bond as educators! It’s how half my students have a hope in hell of passing <em> . </em>”</p><p>“Arg. Never mind then! I’ll just cancel.” After placing the pot on the carpet, Cloud whipped out his PHS and pulled up Tifa’s contact. The previous evening, he had mulled over how best to title her for untold minutes, shuffling between <em> ‘Headmistress’ </em> (deemed too frigid) <em> , ‘Tifa’ </em> (too familiar) <em> , </em> and <em> ‘Miss Lockhart’ </em> (too formal) <em> . </em> In the end, he settled for a simple and clean <em> ‘Tifa Lockhart’ </em>. However, if only to make her name easier to locate on his short list of favorites, he dared to use a rainbow emoji in place of the ‘o’: his own version of a harmless little rebellion. The hope had been that they could talk a bit more tonight, with Zack acting as a subtle buffer to keep his mind from wandering towards darker, more titillating paths. </p><p>Served him right for daring to forget. Nothing Zack ever did was <em> subtle. </em></p><p>“It was stupid to even- I don’t know what I was-”</p><p>“Whoa. Hold off a sec.” A gloved hand reached out and covered the screen, pushing the device down. “I didn’t say cancel. It’s too late to cancel<em> . </em>” </p><p>“Says who?”</p><p>“Says the other guests who are looking forward to seeing boss-lady with her hair down! Oh, and Lockhart herself. I already touched base with her of course. She’s requisitioning the library so that we don’t have to all crowd into one unit and also offered to supply snacks. Adorable, right?”</p><p>Cloud froze, glaring at his friend with the fierceness of one thousand suns. <em> “What </em> other guests?”</p><p>“Aerith, obviously. Yuffie, of course, to assist as assistants do. Oh, and Jessie, who needs to do a massive rewrite of her end-of-year play as it was deemed too ‘thirsty’. Barret couldn’t make it. Apparently he’s <em> ‘too old for that shit’ </em>. Laaaame.”</p><p>“You...invited Yuffie and Jessie - <em> the </em> Jessie Raspberry - to -” Reeling, feeling on the cusp of passing out, Cloud staggered onto the handrail, holding on as if afraid he’d plummet. “No. Screw that. I’m definitely not coming now.”</p><p>“Awww. It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”</p><p>“Zack…Don’t-”</p><p>“I gotta admit,” the English Lit teacher interrupted, bending down to sneak in a couple of squats while they chatted. “I was a little hurt that you chose to expand our bro-tiful event without talking to me first. But now I think it’s brilliant. What sort of gathering isn’t improved by the addition of four, beautiful, (mostly) single women? Why not spread the love...of incorrectly used homophones, I mean?”</p><p>“Need I remind you that this is our livelihoods you’re messing with? Not some stupid dating gameshow.”  </p><p>“Let the record show that <em> you </em> started this.” After one final, grunting squat, Zack threw Cloud a wink and shoulder punch before sprinting up the stairs. “See ya tonight, bro! Make sure to look hot!” </p><p>“I despise you!” Cloud yelled toward the ceiling. “Very much!” </p><p>“Looovvee youuuu tooo!” echoed Zack’s sing-song reply. </p><p>The door to the third-floor hallway opened and shut and yet Cloud remained rooted to the stairs below, trying to keep his heart from breaking a rib with how intensely it was beating. </p><p>Surely it would be fine. </p><p>They were all professionals, most with serious tasks on their plates that required concentration. </p><p>Maybe, like him, most wouldn’t even play the game. </p><p>Oh Gods, what if they <em> all </em> played the game?</p><p>Overwhelmed by terrifying visions of shot glasses spilling onto blueprints and boisterous laughter so loud it made his brain dribble out his ears, Cloud dislodged himself from the wall and headed upstairs to get ready. </p><p>Maybe he’d freak everyone out and wear a red-colored shirt. </p><p>For luck. </p><hr/><p><b>**Author’s Note**: </b>Happy 2021 everyone! Here’s hoping it contains more “Professor Strife” than ever. If you enjoy this alluring, glasses version of everyone’s favorite SOLDIER-boy and desire a saucier rendition, I highly recommend @hoegeta_ ’s fabulous fic “crush”. I am obsessed. Thank you, as always, to the glorious beta @DrWafflepuff. What would I do without you noticing that I wrote “masturbating” wrong? *cry-laugh face*. Thank you again for the comments and kudos that fuel this slow roast of mine. I promise some sort of sear is coming soon ;). Cheers! </p><p>
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